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THUMBELISA 

AND OTHER STORIES 







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\ou shall not be called Ihumbelisa, that is such an ugly name, and 
you are so pretty. We will call you May” 





























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ILLUSTRATIONS AND DECORATIONS 
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 


Trawfen'gd frum 

Reading 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y 


List of Illustrations 

Coloured 

“ You shall not be called Thumbelisa, that is such an ugly name, and you are so 
pretty. We will call you May.” 

“The Day-spring from on high hath visited us. To give light to them that sit 
in darkness, and to guide their feet into the way of peace.” 

The courtiers looked most grand and proper . . . Numbers of tiny little 

elves danced around the hall. 

Black and White 

She was so happy now, because the toad could not reach her and she was sailing 
through such lovely scenes. 

She who is related to the fairies! 

“You shouldn’t even tell me anything of the sort just now, it might have a bad 
effect upon the eggs.” 

The great dragon, hoarding his treasures, raised his head to look at them. 

Great spiders spun their webs from branch to branch . . . and the fairies 

swung hand in hand upon the big dewdrops which covered the leaves and 
the long grass. 

Oh, what a flight that was through the air; the wind caught her cloak, and the 
moon shone through it. 



THUMBELISA 

AND OTHER STORIES 




T HERE was once a woman who had the greatest longing 
for a little tiny child, but she had no idea where to get 
one; so she went to an old witch and said to her, “I do 
so long to have a little child, will you tell me where I can get 
one?” 


“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. 
“Here is a barley corn for you; it is not at all the same kind 
as that which grows in the peasant’s field, or with which chickens 
are fed; plant it in a flower pot and you will see what will appear.” 

“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said the woman, and she 
gave the witch twelve pennies, then went home and planted 
the barley corn, and a large, handsome flower sprang up at 
once; it looked exactly like a tulip, but the petals were tightly 
shut up, just as if they were still in bud. “That is a lovely 
flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the pretty red and 
yellow petals; as she kissed it the flower burst open with a 
loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that; but right 
in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a little tiny 













ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


girl, most lovely and delicate; she was not more than an inch 
in height, so she was called Thumbelisa. 

Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the 
blue petals of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover 
her; she slept in it at night, but during the day she played 
about on the table where the woman had placed a plate, sur¬ 
rounded by a wreath of flowers on the outer edge with their 
stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on the water 
and on this little Thumbelisa sat and sailed about from one 
side of the plate to the other; she had two white horsehairs 
for oars. It was a pretty sight. She could sing, too, with 
such delicacy and charm as was never heard before. 

One night as she lay in her pretty bed, a great ugly toad 
hopped in at the window, for there was a broken pane. Ugh! 
how hideous that great wet toad was; it hopped right down 
on to the table where Thumbelisa lay fast asleep, under the 
red rose-leaf. 

“Here is a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and then 
she took up the walnut shell where Thumbelisa slept and 
hopped away with it through the window, down into the garden. 
A great broad stream ran through it, but just at the edge it 
was swampy and muddy, and it was here that the toad lived 
with her son. Ugh! how ugly and hideous he was too, exactly 
like his mother. “Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all 
he had to say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut 
shell. 

“Do not talk so loud or you will wake her,” said the old 
toad; “she might escape us yet, for she is as light as thistle¬ 
down! We will put her on one of the broad water-lily leaves 
out in the stream; it will be just like an island to her, she is so 
small and light. She won’t be able to run away from there 
while we get the stateroom ready down under the mud, which 
you are to inhabit.” 

A great many water lilies grew in the stream, their broad 
green leaves looked as if they were floating on the surface of 


THUMBELIS A 


the water. The leaf which was farthest from the shore was 
also the biggest and to this one the old toad swam out with 
the walnut shell in which little Thumbelisa lay. 

The poor, tiny little creature woke up quite early in the 
morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry 
most bitterly, for there was water on every side of the big 
green leaf, and she could not reach the land at any point. 

The old toad sat in the mud decking out her abode with 
grasses and the buds of the yellow water lilies, so as to have 
it very nice for the new daughter-in-law, and then she swam 
out with her ugly son to the leaf where Thumbelisa stood; 
they wanted to fetch her pretty bed to place it in the bridal 
chamber before they took her there. The old toad made a 
deep curtsey in the water before her, and said, “Here is my 
son, who is to be your husband, and you are to live together 
most comfortably down in the mud.” 

“Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all the son could 

say. 

Then they took the pretty little bed and swam away with 
it, but Thumbelisa sat quite alone on the green leaf and cried 
because she did not want to live with the ugly toad, or have 
her horrid son for a husband. The little fish which swam 
about in the water had no doubt seen the toad and heard 
what she said, so they stuck their heads up, wishing, I suppose, 
to see the little girl. As soon as they saw her, they were delighted 
with her, and were quite grieved to think that she was to go 
down to live with the ugly toad. No, that should never happen. 
They flocked together down in the water round about the green 
stem which held the leaf she stood upon, and gnawed at it with 
their teeth till it floated away down the stream carrying Thum¬ 
belisa away where the toad could not follow her. 

Thumbelisa sailed past place after place, and the little 
birds in the bushes saw her and sang, “what a lovely little 
maid.” The leaf with her on it floated farther and farther 
away and in this manner reached foreign lands. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


A pretty little white butterfly fluttered round and round 
her for some time and at last settled on the leaf, for it had 
taken quite a fancy to Thumbelisa: she was so happy now, 
because the toad could not reach her and she was sailing through 
such lovely scenes; the sun shone on the water and it looked 
like liquid gold. Then she took her sash and tied one end 
round the butterfly, and the other she made fast to the leaf 
which went gliding on quicker and quicker, and she with it, 
for she was standing on the leaf. 

At this moment a big cockchafer came flying along; he 
caught sight of her and in an instant he fixed his claw round 
her slender waist and flew off with her up into a tree, but the 
green leaf floated down the stream and the butterfly with it, 
for he was tied to it and could not get loose. 

Heavens! how frightened poor little Thumbelisa was when 
the cockchafer carried her up into the tree, but she was most 
of all grieved about the pretty white butterfly which she had 
fastened to the leaf; if he could not succeed in getting loose 
he would be starved to death. 

But the cockchafer cared nothing for that. He settled 
with her on the largest leaf on the tree, and fed her with honey 
from the flowers, and he said that she was lovely although 
she was not a bit like a chafer. Presently all the other chafers 
which lived in the tree came to visit them; they looked at 
Thumbelisa and the young lady chafers twitched their feelers 
and said, “She has also got two legs, what a good effect it has.” 
“She has no feelers,” said another. “She is so slender in the 
waist, fie, she looks like a human being.” “How ugly she is,” 
said all the mother chafers, and yet little Thumbelisa was so 
pretty. That was certainly also the opinion of the cockchafer 
who had captured her, but when all the others said she was ugly, 
he at last began to believe it, too, and would not have anything 
more to do with her, she might go wherever she liked! They 
flew down from the tree with her and placed her on a daisy, 
where she cried because she was so ugly that the chafers would 



She was so happy now, because the toad could not reach her 
and she was sailing through such lovely scenes 




























































































THUMBELIS A 


have nothing to do with her; and, after all, she was more beau¬ 
tiful than anything you could imagine, as delicate and trans¬ 
parent as the finest rose-leaf. 

Poor little Thumbelisa lived all the summer quite alone 
in the wood. She plaited a bed of grass for herself and hung 
it up under a big dock-leaf which sheltered her from the rain; 
she sucked the honey from the flowers for her food, and her drink 
was the dew which lay on the leaves in the morning. In this 
way the summer and autumn passed, but then came the winter. 
All the birds which used to sing so sweetly to her flew away, 
the great dock-leaf under which she had lived shrivelled up, 
leaving nothing but a dead yellow stalk, and she shivered with 
the cold, for her clothes were worn out; she was such a tiny 
creature, poor little Thumbelisa, she certainly must be frozen 
to death. It began to snow and every snowflake which fell 
upon her was like a whole shovelful upon one of us, for we are 
big and she was only one inch in height. Then she wrapped 
herself up in a withered leaf, but that did not warm her much, 
she trembled with the cold. 

Close to the wood in which she had been living lay a large 
cornfield, but the corn had long ago been carried away and 
nothing remained but the bare, dry stubble which stood up 
out of the frozen ground. The stubble was quite a forest for 
her to walk about in: oh, how she shook with the cold. Then 
she came to the door of a field-mouse’s home. It was a little 
hole down under the stubble. The field-mouse lived so cosily 
and warm there, her whole room was full of corn, and she 
had a beautiful kitchen and larder besides. Poor Thumbelisa 
stood just inside the door like any other poor beggar child 
and begged for a little piece of barley corn, for she had had 
nothing to eat for two whole days. 

“You poor little thing,” said the field-mouse, for she was 
at bottom a good old field-mouse. “Come into my warm 
room and dine with me.” Then, as she took a fancy to Thum¬ 
belisa, she said, “You may with pleasure stay with me for the 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES^ 

winter, but you must keep my room clean and tidy and tell 
me stories, for I am very fond of them,” and Thumbelisa 
did what the good old field-mouse desired and was on the 
whole very comfortable. 

“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the field-mouse; 
“my neighbour generally comes to see me every week-day. 
He is even better housed than I am; his rooms are very large, 
and he wears a most beautiful black velvet coat; if only you 
could get him for husband you would indeed be well settled, 
but he can’t see. You must tell him all the most beautiful 
stories you know.” 

But Thumbelisa did not like this, and she would have 
nothing to say to the neighbour, for he was a mole. He came 
and paid a visit in his black velvet coat. He was very rich and 
wise, said the field-mouse, and his home was twenty times 
as large as hers; and he had much learning, but he did not like 
the sun or the beautiful flowers, in fact he spoke slightingly 
of them, for he had never seen them. Thumbelisa had to sing 
to him, and she sang both “Fly away, cockchafer” and “A 
monk, he wandered through the meadow,” then the mole fell 
in love with her because of her sweet voice, but he did not 
say anything, for he was of a discreet turn of mind. 

He had just made a long tunnel through the ground from 
his house to theirs, and he gave the field-mouse and Thumbelisa 
leave to walk in it whenever they liked. He told them not 
to be afraid of the dead bird which was lying in the passage. 
It was a whole bird with feathers and beak which had probably 
died quite recently at the beginning of the winter and was 
now entombed just where he had made his tunnel. 

The mole took a piece of tinder-wood in his mouth, for 
that shines like fire in the dark, and walked in front of them 
to light them in the long dark passage; when they came to 
the place where the dead bird lay, the mole thrust his broad 
nose up to the roof and pushed the earth up so as to make 
a big hole through which the daylight shone. In the middle 


THUMBELISA 


of the floor lay a dead swallow, with its pretty wings closely 
pressed to its sides, and the legs and head drawn in under 
the feathers; no doubt the poor bird had died of cold. Thum- 
belisa was so sorry for it; she loved all the little birds, for they 
had twittered and sung so sweetly to her during the whole 
summer; but the mole kicked it with his short legs and said, 
“Now it will pipe no more! It must be a miserable fate to 
be born a little bird! Thank heaven! no child of mine can 
be a bird; a bird like that has nothing but its twitter and dies 
of hunger in the winter.” 

“Yes, as a sensible man, you may well say that,” said 
the field-mouse. “What has a bird for all its twittering when 
the cold weather comes? It has to hunger and freeze, but 
then it must cut a dash.” 

Thumbelisa did not say anything, but when the others 
turned their backs to the bird, she stooped down and stroked 
aside the feathers which lay over its head, and kissed its closed 
eyes. “Perhaps it was this very bird which sang so sweetly 
to me in the summer,” she thought; “what pleasure it gave 
me, the dear pretty bird.” 

The mole now closed up the hole which let in the daylight 
and conducted the ladies to their home. Thumbelisa could 
not sleep at all in the night, so she got up out of her bed and 
plaited a large handsome mat of hay and then she carried 
it down and spread it all over the dead bird, and laid some soft 
cotton wool which she had found in the field-mouse’s room 
close round its sides, so that it might have a warm bed on 
the cold ground. 

“Good-bye, you sweet little bird,” said she, “good-bye, 
and thank you for your sweet song through the summer when 
all the trees were green and the sun shone warmly upon us.” 
Then she laid her head close up to the bird’s breast, but was 
quite startled at a sound, as if something was thumping inside 
it. It was the bird’s heart. It was not dead but lay in a 
swoon, and now that it had been warmed it began to revive. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


In the autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries, 
Aut if one happens to be belated, it feels the cold so much 
that it falls down like a dead thing, and remains lying where 
it falls till the snow covers it up. Thumbelisa quite shook 
with fright, for the bird was very, very big beside her, who was 
only one inch high; but she gathered up her courage, packed 
the wool closer round the poor bird, and fetched a leaf of mint 
which she had herself for a coverlet, and laid it over the bird’s 
head. The next night she stole down again to it and found 
it alive but so feeble that it could only just open its eyes for 
a moment to look at Thumbelisa who stood with a bit of tinder- 
wood in her hand, for she had no other lantern. 

“Many, many thanks, you sweet child,” said the sick 
swallow to her; “you have warmed me beautifully. I shall 
soon have strength to fly out into the warm sun again.” 

“Oh!” said she, “it is so cold outside, it snows and freezes, 
stay in your warm bed, I will tend you.” Then she brought 
water to the swallow in a leaf, and when it had drunk some 
it told her how it had torn its wing on a blackthorn bush, 
and therefore could not fly as fast as the other swallows which 
were taking flight then for the distant warm lands. At last 
it fell down on the ground, but after that it remembered nothing 
and did not in the least know how it had got into the tunnel. 

It stayed there all the winter, and Thumbelisa was good 
to it and grew very fond of it. She did not tell either the mole 
or the field-mouse anything about it, for they did not like the 
poor unfortunate swallow. 

As soon as the spring came and the warmth of the sun 
penetrated the ground, the swallow said good-bye to Thumbelisa, 
who opened the hole which the mole had made above. The 
sun streamed in deliciously upon them, and the swallow 
asked if she would not go with him; she could sit upon his back 
and they would fly far away into the green wood. But Thum¬ 
belisa knew that it would grieve the old field-mouse if she left 
her like that. 


THUMBELIS A 


“No, I can’t,” said Thumbelisa. 

“Good-bye, good-bye, then, you kind pretty girl,” said 
the swallow, and flew out into the sunshine. Thumbelisa 
looked after him and her eyes filled with tears, for she was very 
fond of the poor swallow. 

“Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, and flew into the green 
wood. 

Thumbelisa was very sad. She was not allowed to go 
out into the warm sunshine at all; the corn which was sown 
in the field near the field-mouse’s house grew quite long; it 
was a thick forest for the poor little girl who was only an inch 
high. 

“You must work at your trousseau this summer,” said the 
field-mouse to her, for their neighbour the tiresome mole in his 
black velvet coat had asked her to marry him. “You shall 
have both woollen and linen, you shall have wherewith to 
clothe and cover yourself when you become the mole’s wife.” 
Thumbelisa had to turn the distaff and the field-mouse hired 
four spiders to spin and weave day and night. The mole 
paid a visit every evening, and he was always saying that when 
the summer came to an end the sun would not shine nearly 
so warmly, now it burnt the ground as hard as a stone. Yes, 
when the summer was over he would celebrate his marriage; 
but Thumbelisa was not at all pleased, for she did not care a 
bit for the tiresome mole. Every morning at sunrise and every 
evening at sunset she used to steal out to the door, and when 
the wind blew aside the tops of the cornstalks so that she could 
see the blue sky, she thought how bright and lovely it was 
out there, and wished so much to see the dear swallow again; 
but it never came back; no doubt it was a long way off, flying 
about in the beautiful green woods. 

When the autumn came all Thumbelisa’s outfit was ready. 

“In four weeks you must be married,” said the field- 
mouse to her. But Thumbelisa cried and said that she would 
not have the tiresome mole for a husband. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the field-mouse: “don’t be obstinate 
or I shall bite you with my white tooth. You are going to 
have a splendid husband; the queen herself hasn’t the equal 
of his black velvet coat; both his kitchen and his cellar are 
full. You should thank heaven for such a husband!” 

So they were to be married; the mole had come to fetch 
Thumbelisa; she was to live deep down under the ground 
with him, and never to go out into the warm sunshine, for 
he could not bear it. The poor child was very sad at the 
thought of bidding good-bye to the beautiful sun; while she 
had been with the field-mouse she had at least been allowed 
to look at it from the door. 

“Good-bye, you bright sun,” she said as she stretched out 
her arms toward it and went a little way outside the field- 
mouse’s house, for now the harvest was over and only the 
stubble remained. “Good-bye, good-bye!” she said, and 
threw her tiny arms round a little red flower growing there. 
“Give my love to the dear swallow if you happen to see him.” 

“Tweet, tweet,” she heard at this moment above her 
head. She looked up; it was the swallow just passing. As 
soon as it saw Thumbelisa it was delighted; she told it how 
unwilling she was to have the ugly mole for a husband, and 
that she was to live deep down underground where the sun 
never shone. She could not help crying about it. 

“The cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I 
am going to fly away to warm countries. Will you go with 
me? You can sit upon my back! Tie yourself on with 
your sash; then we will fly away from the ugly mole and 
his dark cavern, far away over the mountains to those warm 
countries where the sun shines with greater splendour than 
here, where it is always summer and there are heaps of flow¬ 
ers. Do fly with me, you sweet little Thumbelisa, who saved 
my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.” 

“Yes, I will go with you,” said Thumbelisa, seating her¬ 
self on the bird’s back, with her feet on its outspread wings. 


THUMBELISA 


She tied her band tightly to one of the strongest feathers, and 
then the swallow flew away, high up in the air above forests 
and lakes, high up above the biggest mountains where the snow 
never melts; and Thumbelisa shivered in the cold air, but 
then she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, and only stuck 
out her little head to look at the beautiful sights beneath her. 

Then at last they reached the warm countries. The sun 
shone with a warmer glow than here; the sky was twice as 
high, and the most beautiful green and blue grapes grew in 
clusters on the banks and hedgerows. Oranges and lemons 
hung in the woods, which were fragrant with myrtles and 
sweet herbs, and beautiful children ran about the roads play¬ 
ing with the large gorgeously coloured butterflies. But the 
swallow flew on and on, and the country grew more and more 
beautiful. Under magnificent green trees on the shores of 
the blue sea stood a dazzling white marble palace of ancient 
date; vines wreathed themselves round the stately pillars. 
At the head of these there were countless nests, and the swal¬ 
low who carried Thumbelisa lived in one of them. 

“Here is my house,” said the swallow; “but if you will 
choose one of the gorgeous flowers growing down there, I will 
place you in it, and you will live as happily as you can wish.” 

“That would be delightful,” she said, and clapped her 
little hands. 

A great white marble column had fallen to the ground 
and lay there broken in three pieces, but between these the 
most lovely white flowers grew. The swallow flew down 
with Thumbelisa and put her upon one of the broad leaves; 
what was her astonishment to find a little man in the middle 
of the flower, as bright and transparent as if he had been made 
of glass. He had a lovely golden crown upon his head and 
the most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders; he was 
no bigger than Thumbelisa. He was the angel of the flowers. 
There was a similar little man or woman in every flower, but 
he was the king of them all. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


“Heavens, how beautiful he is,” whispered Thumbelisa 
to the swallow. The little prince was quite frightened by 
the swallow, for it was a perfect giant of a bird to him, he 
who was so small and delicate, but when he saw Thumbelisa 
he was delighted; she was the very prettiest girl he had ever 
seen. He therefore took the golden crown off his own head 
and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she would 
be his wife, and then she would be queen of the flowers! Yes, 
he was certainly a very different kind of husband from the 
toad’s son, or the mole with his black velvet coat. So she 
accepted the beautiful prince, and out of every flower stepped 
a little lady or a gentleman so lovely that it was a pleasure to 
look at them. Each one brought a gift to Thumbelisa, but 
the best of all was a pair of pretty wings from a large white fly; 
they were fastened on to her back, and then she too could fly 
from flower to flower. All was then delight and happiness, 
but the swallow sat alone in his nest and sang to them as well 
as he could, for his heart was heavy, he was so fond of Thum¬ 
belisa himself, and would have wished never to part from her. 

“You shall not be called Thumbelisa,” said the angel of 
the flower to her; “that is such an ugly name, and you are 
so pretty. We will call you May.” 

“Good-bye, good-bye,” said the swallow, and flew away 
again from the warm countries, far away back to Denmark; 
there he had a little nest above the window where the man 
lived who wrote this story, and he sang his “tweet, tweet,” 
to the man, and so we have the whole story. 





T HE storks have a great many stories, which they tell 
their little ones, all about the bogs and the marshes. 
They suit them to their ages and capacity. The youngest 
ones are quite satisfied with “Kribble krabble,” or some such 
nonsense; but the older ones want something with more mean¬ 
ing in it, or at any rate something about the family. We 
all know one of the two oldest and longest tales which have been 
kept up among the storks; the one about Moses, who was 
placed by his mother on the waters of the Nile, and found 
there by the king’s daughter. How she brought him up and 
how he became a great man whose burial place nobody to this 
day knows. This is all common knowledge. 

The other story is not known yet, because the storks 
have kept it among themselves. It has been handed on from 
one mother stork to another for more than a thousand years, 
and each succeeding mother has told it better and better, till 
we now tell it best of all. 

The first pair of storks who told it, and who actually 



















ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


lived it, had their summer quarters on the roof of the Viking’s 
timbered house up by “Vidmosen” (the Wild Bog) in Wend- 
syssel. It is in the county of Hiorring, high up toward the 
Skaw, in the north of Jutland, if we are to describe it according 
to the authorities. There is still a great bog there, which we 
may read about in the county chronicles. This district used 
to be under the sea at onetime, but the ground has risen, and 
it stretches for miles. It is surrounded on every side by marshy 
meadows, quagmires, and peat bogs, on which grow cloud berries 
and stunted bushes. There is nearly always a damp mist 
hanging over it, and seventy years ago it was still overrun 
with wolves. It may well be called the Wild Bog, and one 
can easily imagine how desolate and dreary it was among 
all these swamps and pools a thousand years ago. In detail 
everything is much the same now as it was then. The reeds 
grow to the same height, and have the same kind of long pur¬ 
ple-brown leaves with feathery tips as now. The birch still 
grows there with its white bark and its delicate loosely hang¬ 
ing leaves. With regard to living creatures, the flies still wear 
their gauzy draperies of the same cut; and the storks now, 
as then, still dress in black and white, with long red stockings. 
The people certainly then had a very different cut for their 
clothes than at the present day; but if any of them, serf or 
huntsman, or anybody at all, stepped on the quagmires, the 
same fate befell him a thousand years ago as would overtake 
him now if he ventured on them — in he would go, and down 
he would sink to the Marsh King, as they call him. He 
rules down below over the whole kingdom of bogs and swamps. 
He might also be called King of the Quagmires, but we prefer 
to call him the Marsh King, as the storks did. We know 
very little about his rule, but that is perhaps just as well. 

Near the bogs, close to the arm of the Cattegat, called 
the Limfiord, lay the timbered hall of the Vikings with its 
stone cellar, its tower, and its three storeys. The storks had 
built their nest on the top of the roof, and the mother stork was 



She who is related to the fairies! 



























THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

sitting on the eggs which she was quite sure would soon be 
successfully hatched. 

One evening Father Stork stayed out rather late, and 
when he came back he looked somewhat ruffled. 

“I have something terrible to tell you!” he said to the 
mother stork. 

“Don’t tell it tome then,” she answered; “remember that 
I am sitting; it might upset me and that would be bad for 
the eggs!” 

“You will have to know it,” said he; “she has come here, 
the daughter of our host in Egypt. She has ventured to take 
the journey, and now she has disappeared.” 

“She who is related to the fairies! Tell me all about it. 
You know I can’t bear to be kept waiting now I am sitting.” 

“Look here, mother! She must have believed what the 
doctor said as you told me; she believed that the marsh flowers 
up here would do something for her father, and she flew over 
here in feather plumage with the other two Princesses, who 
have to come north every year to take the baths to make them¬ 
selves young. She came, and she has vanished.” 

“You go into too many particulars,” said the mother 
stork; “the eggs might get a chill, and I can’t stand being 
kept in suspense.” 

“I have been on the outlook,” said Father Stork, “and 
to-night when I was among the reeds where the quagmire 
will hardly bear me, I saw three swans flying along, and 
there was something about their flight which said to me, 
‘Watch them, they are not real swans! They are only in swans’ 
plumage.’ You know, mother, as well as I, that one feels 
things intuitively, whether or not they are what they seem 
to be.” 

“Yes, indeed!” she said, “but tell me about the Princess. 
I am quite tired of hearing about swan’s plumage.” 

“You know that in the middle of the bog there is a kind 
of lake,” said Father Stork. “You can see a bit of it if you 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

raise your head. Well, there was a big alder stump between 
the bushes and the quagmire, and on this the three swans 
settled, flapping their wings and looking about them. Then 
one of them threw off the swan’s plumage, and I at once 
recognized in her our Princess from Egypt. There she sat 
with no covering but her long black hair; I heard her beg 
the two others to take good care of the sw T an’s plumage while 
she dived under the water to pick up the marsh flower which 
she thought she could see. They nodded and raised their 
heads, and lifted up the loose plumage. What are they going 
to do with it, thought I, and she no doubt asked them the 
same thing; and the answer came, she had ocular demonstra¬ 
tion of it: they flew up into the air with the feather garment! 
‘Just you duck down,’ they cried. ‘Never again will you 
fly about in the guise of a swan; never more will you see the 
land of Egypt; you may sit in your swamp.’ Then they tore 
the feather garment into a hundred bits, scattering the feathers 
all over the place, like a snowstorm; then away flew those 
two good-for-nothing Princesses.” 

“What a terrible thing!” said Mother Stork; “but I must 
have the end of it.” 

“The Princess moaned and wept! Her tears trickled 
down upon the alder stump, and then it began to move, for 
it was the Marsh King himself, who lives in the bog. I saw 
the stump turn round, and saw that it was no longer a stump; 
it stretched out long miry branches like arms. The poor 
child was terrified, and she sprang away on to the shaking 
quagmire where it would not even bear my weight, far less 
hers. She sank at once and the alder stump after her; it 
was dragging her down. Great black bubbles rose in the slime, 
and then there was nothing more to be seen. Now she is 
buried in the Wild Bog and never will she take back the flowers 
she came for to Egypt. You could not have endured the sight, 
mother!” 

“You shouldn’t even tell me anything of the sort just now, 



“ You shouldn’t even tell me anything of the sort just now, it might 
have a bad effect upon the eggs” 






























THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


it might have a bad effect upon the eggs. The Princess must 
look after herself. She will get help somehow; if it had been 
you or I, now, or one of our sort, all would have been over 
with us!” 

“I mean to keep a watch, though, every day,” said the 
stork, and he kept his word. 

But a long time passed, and then one day he saw that a 
green stem shot up from the fathomless depths, and when it 
reached the surface of the water a leaf appeared at the top 
which grew broader and broader. Next a bud appeared close 
by it, and one morning at dawn, just as the stork was passing, 
the bud opened out in the warm rays of the sun, and in the mid¬ 
dle of it lay a lovely baby, a little girl looking just as fresh as 
if she had just come out of a bath. She was so exactly like 
the Princess from Egypt that at first the stork thought it 
was she who had grown small; but when he put two and two 
together, he came to the conclusion that it was her child and 
the Marsh King’s. This explained why she appeared in a 
water lily. “She can’t stay there very long,” thought the 
stork; “and there are too many of us in my nest as it is, but an 
idea has just come into my head! The Viking’s wife has no 
child, and she has often wished for one. As I am always said 
to bring the babies, this time I will do so in earnest. I will 
fly away to the Viking’s wife with the baby, and that will 
indeed be a joy for her.” 

So the stork took up the little girl and flew away with her 
to the timbered house, where he picked a hole in the bladder 
skin which covered the window, and laid the baby in the arms 
of the Viking’s wife. This done, he flew home and told the 
mother stork all about it, and the young ones heard what 
he said; they were old enough to understand it. 

“So you see that the Princess is not dead; she must have 
sent the baby up here, and I have found a home for her.” 

“I said so from the very first,” said Mother Stork; “now 
just give a little attention to your own children; it is almost 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

time to start on our own journey. I feel a tingling in my 
wings every now and then! The cuckoo and the nightin¬ 
gale are already gone, and I hear from the quails that we shall 
soon have a good wind. Our young people will do themselves 
credit at the manoeuvres if I know them aright!” 

How delighted the Viking’s wife was when she woke in 
the morning and found the little baby on her bosom! She 
kissed and caressed it; but it screamed and kicked terribly, 
and seemed anything but happy. At last it cried itself to 
sleep, and as it lay there a prettier little thing could not have 
been seen. The Viking’s wife was delighted; body and soul 
were filled with joy. She was sure that now her husband 
and all his men would soon come back as unexpectedly as the 
baby had come. So she and her household busied themselves 
in putting the house in order against their return. The long 
coloured tapestries which she and her handmaids had woven 
with pictures of their gods Odin, Thor, and Freya as they 
were called —were hung up. The serfs had to scour and 
polish the old shields which hung round the walls; cushions 
were laid on the benches, and logs upon the great hearth in 
the middle of the hall, so that the fire might be lighted at once. 
The Viking’s wife helped with all this work herself, so that when 
evening came she was very tired and slept soundly. When 
she woke toward morning she was much alarmed at finding 
that the little baby had disappeared. She sprang up and lighted 
a pine chip and looked about. There was no baby, but at 
the foot of the bed sat a hideous toad. She was horrified 
at the sight, and seized up a heavy stick to kill it, but it looked 
at her with such curious sad eyes that she had not the heart 
to strike it. Once more she looked round and the toad gave 
a faint pitiful croak which made her start. She jumped out 
of bed and threw open the window shutter; the sun was just 
rising and its beams fell upon the bed and the great toad. All 
at once the monster’s wide mouth seemed to contract, and to 
become small and rosy, the limbs stretched and again took 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


their lovely shapes, and it was her own dear little baby which 
lay there, and not a hideous frog. 

“Whatever is this?” she cried; “I have had a bad dream. 
This is my own darling elfin child.” She kissed it and pressed 
it to her heart, but it struggled and bit like a wild kitten. 

Neither that day nor the next did the Viking lord come 
home, although he was on his way, but the winds were against 
him; they were blowing southward for the storks. “It is an 
ill wind that blows nobody good.” 

In the course of a few days and nights it became clear to 
the Viking’s wife how matters stood with her little baby; 
some magic power had a terrible hold over her. In the day¬ 
time it was as beautiful as any fairy, but it had a bad, wicked 
temper; at night, on the other hand, she became a hideous 
toad, quiet and pathetic, with sad, mournful eyes. There 
were two natures in her both in soul and body continually 
shifting. The reason of it was that the little girl brought 
by the stork by day had her mother’s form and her father’s 
evil nature; but at night her kinship with him appeared in her 
outward form, and her mother’s sweet nature and gentle spirit 
beamed out of the misshapen monster. Who could release 
her from the power of this witchcraft? It caused the Viking’s 
wife much grief and trouble, and yet her heart yearned over the 
unfortunate being. She knew that she would never dare to 
tell her husband the true state of affairs, because he would 
without doubt, according to custom, have the poor child 
exposed on the highway for any one who chose to look after 
it. The good woman had not the heart to do this, and so 
she determined that he should only see the child by broad 
daylight. 

One morning there was a sound of stork’s wings swishing 
over the roof; during the night more than a hundred pairs of 
storks had made it their resting-place, after the great manoeuvres, 
and they were now trying their wings before starting on their 
long southward flight. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


“Every man ready!” they cried; “all the wives and chil¬ 
dren, too.” 

“How light we feel,” cried the young storks; “our legs 
tingle as if we were full of live frogs! How splendid it is to 
be travelling to foreign lands.” 

“Keep in line!” said father and mother, “and don’t let 
your beaks clatter so fast; it isn’t good for the chest.” Then 
away they flew. 

At the very same moment a horn sounded over the heath. 
The Viking had landed with all his men; they were bringing 
home no end of rich booty from the Gallic coast, where the 
people cried in their terror as did the people of Britain: 

“Deliver us from the wild Northmen!” 

What life and noise came to the Viking’s home by the 
Wild Bog now! The mead cask was brought into the hall, 
the great fire lighted, and horses slaughtered for the feast, 
which was to be an uproarious one. The priest sprinkled 
the thralls with the warm blood of the horses as a consecration. 
The fire crackled and roared, driving the smoke up under the 
roof, and the soot dripped down from the beams; but they were 
used to all that. Guests were invited and they received hand¬ 
some presents. All feuds and double-dealing were forgotten. 
They drank deeply, and threw the knuckle-bones in each other’s 
faces when they had gnawed them, but that was a mark of 
good feeling. The Skald — the minstrel of the times, but he 
was also a warrior, for he went with them on their expeditions, 
and he knew what he was singing about — gave them one of 
his ballads recounting all their warlike deeds and their prowess. 
After every verse came the same refrain: “Fortunes may be 
lost, friends may die, one dies one’s self, but a glorious name never 
dies!” Then they banged on the shields, and hammered with 
knives or the knuckle-bones on the table before them, till the 
hall rang. 

The Viking’s wife sat on the cross bench in the banquet¬ 
ing hall. She was dressed in silk with gold bracelets and 


,THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

large ember beads. The Skald brought her name into the 
song, too; he spoke of the golden treasure she had brought 
to her wealthy husband, and his delight at the beautiful child 
which at present he had only seen under its charming daylight 
guise. He rather admired her passionate nature, and said 
she would grow into a doughty shield maiden or Valkyrie, 
able to hold her own in battle. She would be of the kind who 
would not blink if a practised hand cut off her eyebrows in 
jest with a sharp sword. The barrel of mead came to an end, 
and a new one was rolled up in its place; this one, too, was soon 
drained to the dregs, but they were a hard-headed people who 
could stand a great deal. They had a proverb then, “The 
beast knows when it is time to go home from grass, but the 
fool never knows when he has had enough.” They knew 
it very well, but people often know one thing and yet do an¬ 
other. They also knew that “the dearest friend becomes 
a bore if he sits too long in one’s house!” but yet they sat on. 
Meat and drink are such good things! They were a jovial 
company! At night the thralls slept among the warm ashes, 
and they dipped their fingers in the sooty grease and licked 
them. Those were rare times indeed. 

The Viking went out once more that year on a raid, although 
the autumn winds were beginning; he sailed with his men 
to the coast of Britain; “it was just over the water,” he said. 
His wife remained at home with the little girl, and certain it 
was that the foster-mother soon grew fonder of the poor toad 
with the pathetic eyes and plaintive sighs than she was of 
the little beauty who tore and bit. 

The raw, wet autumn fog “Gnaw-worm” which gnaws the 
leaves off the trees, lay over wood and heath; and “Bird loose- 
feather,” as they call the snow, followed closely upon each 
other. Winter was on its way. The sparrows took the storks’ 
nest under their protection, and discussed the absent owners 
in their own fashion. The stork couple and their young — 
where were they now? 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


The storks were in the land of Egypt under such a sun as 
we have on a warm summer’s day! They were surrounded 
by flowering tamarinds and acacias. Mahomet’s crescent 
glittered from every cupola on the mosques, and many a pair 
of storks stood on the slender towers resting after their long 
journey. Whole flocks of them had their nests side by side 
on the mighty pillars, or the ruined arches of the deserted 
temples. The date palm lifted high its screen of branches as 
if to form a sunshade. The grayish white pyramids stood 
like shadowy sketches against the clear atmosphere of the 
desert, where the ostrich knew it would find space for its stride. 
The lion crouched gazing with its great wdse eyes at the mar¬ 
ble Sphinx half buried in the sand. The Nile waters had 
receded and the land teemed with frogs; to the storks this was 
the most splendid sight in all the land. The eyes of the young 
ones were quite dazzled with the sight. 

“See what it is to be here, and we always have the same 
in our warm country,” said the mother stork, and the stomachs 
of the little ones tingled. 

“Is there anything more to see?” they asked; “shall we 
go any farther inland?” 

“There is not much more to see,” said the mother stork. 
“On the fertile side there are only secluded woods where 
the trees are interlaced by creeping plants. The elephant, 
with its strong clumsy legs, is the only creature which can force 
a way through. The snakes there are too big for us, and the 
lizards are too nimble. If you go out into the desert you 
will get sand in your eyes if the weather is good, and if it is 
bad you may be buried in a sandstorm. No, we are best 
here; there are plenty of frogs and grasshoppers. Here I 
stay and you, too!” And so she stayed. 

The old ones stayed in their nests on the slender minarets 
resting themselves, but at the same time busily smoothing 
their feathers and rubbing their beaks upon their red stock¬ 
ings. Or they would lift up their long necks and gravely 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

bow their heads, their brown eyes beaming wisely. The 
young stork misses walked about gravely among the juicy 
reeds, casting glances at the young bachelor storks, or making 
acquaintance with them; they would swallow a frog at every 
third step, or walk about with a small snake dangling from 
their beak; it had such a good effect, they thought, and then 
it tasted so good. The young he-storks engaged in many a 
petty quarrel, in which they flapped their wings furiously and 
stabbed each other with their beaks till the blood came. Then 
they took mates and built nests for themselves; it was what 
they lived for. New quarrels soon arose, for in these warm 
countries people are terribly passionate. All the same it 
was very pleasant to the old ones; nothing could be wrong 
that their young ones did. There was sunshine every day, 
and plenty to eat; nothing to think of but pleasure! 

But in the great palace of their Egyptian host, as they 
called him, matters were not so pleasant. The rich and mighty 
lord lay stretched upon his couch, as stiff in every limb as if 
he had been a mummy. The great painted hall was as gorgeous 
as if he had been lying within a tulip. Relatives and friends 
stood around him — he was not dead — yet he could hardly 
be called living. The healing marsh flower from the northern 
lands, which was to be found and plucked by the one who loved 
him best, would never be brought. His young and lovely 
daughter, who in the plumage of a swan had flown over sea 
and land to the far north, would never return. The two other 
swan Princesses had come back and this is the tale they told: 

“We were all flying high up in the air when a huntsman 
saw us and shot his arrow; it pierced our young friend to the 
heart, and she slowly sank. As she sank she sang her farewell 
song and fell into the midst of a forest pool. There by the 
shore under a drooping birch we buried her; but we had our 
revenge; we bound fire under the wings of a swallow which 
had its nest under the eaves of his cottage. The roof took fire 
and the cottage blazed up and he was burnt in it. The flames 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

shone on the pool where she lay, earth of the earth, under 
the birch. Never more will she come back to the land of 
Egypt.” 

Then they both wept, and the father stork who heard it 
clattered with his beak and said, “Pack of lies; I should like 
to drive my beak right into their breasts!” 

“Where it would break off, and a nice sight you would be 
then,” said the mother stork. “Think of yourself first and 
then of your family; everything else comes second to that!” 

“I will perch upon the open cupola to-morrow when the 
wise and learned folk assemble to talk about the sick man; 
perhaps they will get a little nearer to the truth!” 

The sages met together and talked long and learnedly, 
but the stork could neither make head nor tail of it. Nothing 
came of it, however, either for the sick man or for his daughter 
who was buried in the Wild Bog; but we may just as well 
hear what they said and we may, perhaps, understand the story 
better, or at least as well as the stork. 

“Love is the food of life! The highest love nourishes 
the highest life! Only through love can this life be won back!” 
This had been said and well said, declared the sages. 

“It is a beautiful idea!” said Father Stork at once. 

“I don’t rightly understand it,” said the mother stork; 
“however, that is not my fault, but the fault of the idea. It 
really does not matter to me, though; I have other things to 
think about!” 

The sages had talked a great deal about love, the differ¬ 
ence between the love of lovers, and that of parent and child, 
light and vegetation, and how the sunbeams kissed the mire 
and forthwith young shoots sprang into being. The whole 
discourse was so learned that the father stork could not take 
it in, far less repeat it. He became quite pensive and stood 
on one leg for a whole day with his eyes half shut. Learning 
was a heavy burden to him. 

Yet one thing the stork had thoroughly comprehended: 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

he had heard from high and low alike what a misfortune it 
was to thousands of people and to the whole country, that 
this man should be lying sick without hope of recovery. It 
would indeed be a blessed day which should see his health 
restored. “But where blossoms the flower of healing for 
him?” they had asked of one another, and they had also con¬ 
sulted all their learned writings, the twinkling stars, the winds 
and the waves. The only answer that the sages had been 
able to give was, “Love is the food of life!” but how to 
apply the saying they knew not. At last all were agreed 
that succour must come through the Princess who loved her 
father with her whole heart and soul. And they at last de¬ 
cided what she was to do. It was more than a year and a 
day since they had sent her at night, when there was a new 
moon, out into the desert to the Sphinx. Here she had to 
push away the sand from the door at the base of it, and walk 
through the long passage which led right into the middle of 
the pyramid, where one of the mightiest of their ancient kings 
lay swathed in his mummy’s bands in the midst of his wealth 
and glory. Here she was to bend her head to the corpse, and 
it would be revealed to her where she would find healing and 
salvation for her father. 

All this she had done, and the exact spot had been shown 
her in dreams where in the depths of the morass she would 
find the lotus flower that would touch her bosom beneath the 
water. And this she was to bring home. So she flew away 
in her swan’s plumage to the Wild Bog in the far north. 

Now all this the father and mother stork had known from 
the beginning, and we understand the matter better than we 
did. We know that the Marsh King dragged her down to 
himself, and that to those at home she was dead and gone. 
The wisest of them said like the mother stork, “She will look 
out for herself!” so they awaited her return, not knowing 
in fact what else to do. 

“I think I will snatch away the swans’ plumage from the 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


two deceitful Princesses,” said the father stork. “Then they 
could not go to the Wild Bog to do any more mischief. I 
will keep the plumages up there till we find a use for them.” 

“Up where will you keep them?” asked the mother stork. 

“In our nest at the Wild Bog,” said he. “The young 
ones and I can carry them between us, and if they are too 
cumbersome, there are places enough on the way where we 
can hide them till our next flight. One plumage would be 
enough for her, but two are better; it is a good plan to have 
plenty of wraps in a northern country! ” 

“You will get no thanks for it,” said the mother stork; 
“ but you are the master. I have nothing to say except when 
I am sitting.” 

In the meantime the little child in the Viking’s hall by 
the Wild Bog, whither the storks flew in the spring, had had 
a name given her: it was Helga, but such a name was far too 
gentle for such a wild spirit as dwelt within her. Month 
by month it showed itself more, and year by year, whilst the 
storks took the same journey, in autumn toward the Nile, 
and in spring toward the Wild Bog. The little child grew 
to be a big girl, and before one knew how, she was the loveli¬ 
est maiden possible of sixteen. The husk was lovely but 
the kernel was hard and rough; wilder than most, even in those 
hard, wild times. 

Her greatest pleasure was to dabble her white hands in 
the blood of the horses slaughted for sacrifice; in her wild 
freaks she would bite the heads off the black cocks which the 
priest was about to slay, and she said in full earnest to her 
foster father, “If thy foe were to come and throw a rope round 
the beams of thy house and pull it about thine ears, I would 
not wake thee if I could. I should not hear him for the tin¬ 
gling of the blood in the ear thou once boxed years ago! I 
do not forget!” 

But the Viking did not believe what she said. He, like 
everybody else, was infatuated by her beauty, nor did he 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


know how body and soul changed places in his little Helga 
in the dark hours of the night. She rode a horse bare¬ 
backed as if she were a part of it, nor did she jump off 
while her steed bit and fought with the other wild horses. 
She would often throw herself from the cliff into the sea in 
all her clothes, and swim out to meet the Viking when his 
boat neared the shore; and she cut off the longest strand of 
her beautiful long hair to string her bow. 44 Self made is well 
made,” said she. 

The Viking’s wife, though strong-willed and strong-minded 
after the fashion of the times, became toward her daughter 
like any other weak anxious mother, because she knew that 
a spell rested over the terrible child. Often when her mother 
stepped out on to the balcony Helga, from pure love of teasing 
it seemed, would sit down upon the edge of the well, throw up 
her hands and feet, and go backward plump into the dark 
narrow hole. Here with her frog’s nature she would rise again 
and clamber out like a cat dripping with water, carrying a per¬ 
fect stream into the banqueting hall, washing aside the green 
twigs strewn on the floor. 

One bond, however, always held little Helga in check, 
and that was twilight; when it drew near, she became quiet 
and pensive, allowing herself to be called and directed. An 
inner perception as it were drew her toward her mother, 
and when the sun sank and the transformation took place, 
she sat sad and quiet, shrivelled up into the form of a toad. 
Her body was now much bigger than those creatures ever are, 
but for that reason all the more unsightly. She looked like 
a wretched dwarf with the head of a frog and webbed fingers. 
There was something so piteous in her eyes; and voice she had 
none, only a hollow croak like the smothered sobs of a dreaming 
child. Then the Viking’s wife would take it on her knee, 
and looking into its eyes would forget the misshapen form, 
and would often say, 44 1 could almost wish that thou wouldst 
always remain my dumb frog-child. Thou art more terrible 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


to look at when thou art clothed in beauty.” Then she would 
write Runes against sickness and sorcery, and throw them over 
the miserable girl, but they did no good at all. 

“One would never think that she had been small enough 
to lie in a water lily!” said the father stork. “Now she is 
grown up, and the very image of her Egyptian mother, whom 
we never saw again! She did not manage to take such good 
care of herself as you and the sages said she would. I have 
been flying across the marsh year in, year out, and never have 
I seen a trace of her. Yes, I may as well tell you that all these 
years when I have come on in advance of you to look after 
the nest and set it to rights, I have spent many a night flying 
about like an owl or a bat scanning the open water, but all 
to no purpose. Nor have we had any use for the two swan 
plumages which the young ones and I dragged up here with so 
much difficulty; it took us three journeys to get them here. 
They have lain for years in the bottom of the nest, and if ever 
a "disaster happens, such as a fire in the timbered house, they 
will be entirely lost.” 

“And our good nest would be lost too,” said the mother 
stork; “but you think less of that than you do of your feather 
dresses, and your marsh Princess. You had better go down 
to her one day and stay in the mire for good. You are a bad 
father to your own chicks, and I have always said so since the 
first time I hatched a brood. If only we or the young ones 
don’t get an arrow through our wings from that mad Viking 
girl. She doesn’t know what she is about. We are rather 
more at home here than she is, and she ought to remember 
that. We never forget our obligations. Every year we pay 
our toll of a feather, an egg, and a young one, as it is only right 
we should. Do you think that while she is about I care to go 
down there as I used to do, and as I do in Egypt when I am 
‘hail fellow well met’ with everybody, and where I peep into 
their pots and kettles if I like? No, indeed; I sit up here vexing 
myself about her, the vixen, and you too. You should have 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

left her in the water lily, and there would have been an end 
of her.” 

“You are much more estimable than your words,” said 
the father stork. “I know you better than you know your¬ 
self, my dear.” Then he gave a hop and flapped his wings 
thrice, proudly stretched out his neck and soared away with¬ 
out moving his outspread wings. When he had gone some dis¬ 
tance he made some more powerful strokes, his head and neck 
bending proudly forward, while his plumage gleamed in the 
sunshine. What strength and speed there were in his flight! 

“He is the handsomest of them all yet,” said the mother 
stork; “but I don’t tell him that.” 

The Viking came home early that autumn with his booty 
and prisoners; among these was a young Christian priest, 
one of those men who persecuted the heathen gods of the 
north. There had often been discussions of late, both in the 
hall and in the women’s bower, about the new faith which was 
spreading in all the countries to the south. Through the holy 
Ansgarius it had spread as far as Hedeby on the Schlei. Even 
little Helga had heard of the belief in the “White Christ,” 
who from love to man had given Himself for their salvation. 
As far as Helga was concerned it had all gone in at one ear and 
out at the other, as one says. The very meaning of the word 
“love” only seemed to dawn upon her when she was shrivelled 
up into the form of a frog in her secret chamber, but the 
Viking’s wife had listened to the story and had felt herself 
strangely moved by these tales about the Son of the only 
true God. 

The men on their return from their raids told them all 
about the temples built of costly polished stone, which were 
raised to Him whose message was Love. Once a couple of 
heavy golden vessels of cunning workmanship were brought 
home about which hung a peculiar spicy odour. They were 
censers used by the Christian priests to swing before the altars 
on which blood never flowed, but where the bread and wine 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


were changed to the Body and Blood of Him who gave Himself 
for the yet unborn generations. 

The young priest was imprisoned in the deep stone cellars 
of the timber house and his feet and hands were bound with 
strips of bark. He was as “beautiful as Baldur,” said the 
Viking’s wife, and she felt pity for him, but young Helga 
proposed that he should be hamstrung and be tied to the tails 
of wild oxen. 

“Then would I let the dogs loose on him. Hie and away 
over marshes and pools; that would be a merry sight, and 
merrier still would it be to follow in his course.” 

However, this was not the death the Viking wished him 
to die, but rather that, as a denier and a persecutor of the great 
gods, he should be offered up in the morning upon the bloodstone 
in the groves. For the first time a man was to be sacrificed 
here. Young Helga begged that she might sprinkle the effigies 
of the gods and the people with his blood. She polished her 
sharp knife, and when one of the great ferocious dogs, of which 
there were so many about the place, sprang toward her, she 
dug her knife into its side, “to try it,” she said; but the Viking’s 
wife looked sadly at the wild, badly disposed girl. When 
the night came and the girl’s beauty of body and soul changed 
places, she spoke tender words of grief from her sorrowful 
heart. The ugly toad with its ungainly body stood fixing its 
sad brown eyes upon her, listening and seeming to understand 
with the mind of a human being. 

“Never once to my husband has a word of my double 
grief through you passed my lips,” said the Viking’s wife. 
“My heart is full of grief for you, great is a mother’s love! 
But love never entered your heart; it is like a lump of cold 
clay. However did you get into my house?” 

Then the ungainly creature trembled, as if the words 
touched some invisible chord between body and soul, and 
great tears came into its eyes. 

“A bitter time will come to you,” said the Viking’s wife, 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

'“‘and it will be a terrible one to me, too! Better would it have 
been, if as a child you had been exposed on the highway, 
and lulled by the cold to the sleep of death!” And the Viking’s 
wife shed bitter tears, and went away in anger and sorrow, 
passing under the curtain of skins which hung from the beams 
and divided the hall. 

The shrivelled-up toad crouched in the corner, and a 
dead silence reigned. At intervals a half-stifled sigh rose 
within her; it was as if in anguish something came to life in 
her heart. She took a step forward and listened, then she 
stepped forward again and grasped the heavy bar of the door 
with her clumsy hands. Softly she drew it back, and silently 
lifted the latch; then she took up the lamp which stood in the 
ante-room. It seemed as if a strong power gave her strength. 
She drew out the iron bolt from the barred cellar door, and 
slipped in to the prisoner. He was asleep; she touched him 
with her cold clammy hand, and when he woke and saw the 
hideous creature, he shuddered as if he beheld an evil apparition. 
She drew out her knife and cut his bonds asunder, and then 
beckoned him to follow her. He named the Holy name, and 
made the sign of the cross, and as the form remained unchanged, 
he repeated the words of the Psalmist: “Blessed is the man 
who hath pity on the poor and needy; the Lord will deliver him 
in the time of trouble!” Then he asked, “Who art thou, whose 
outward appearance is that of an animal, whilst thou willingly 
performest deeds of mercy?” 

The toad only beckoned him and led him behind the 
sheltering curtains down a long passage to the stable, pointed 
to a horse, on to which he sprang and she after him. She 
sat in front of him clutching the mane of the animal. The 
prisoner understood her and they rode at a quick pace along 
a path he never would have found to the heath. He forgot 
her hideous form, knowing that the mercy of the Lord worked 
through the spirits of darkness. He prayed and sang holy 
songs which made her tremble. Was it the power of prayer 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


and his singing working upon her, or was it the chill air of the 
advancing dawn? What were her feelings? She raised her¬ 
self and wanted to stop and jump off the horse, but the Christian 
priest held her tightly, with all his strength, and sang aloud a 
psalm as if this could lift the spell which held her. 

The horse bounded on more wildly than before, the sky 
grew red, and the first sunbeams pierced the clouds. As 
the stream of light touched her, the transformation took place. 
She was once more a lovely maiden, but her demoniac spirit 
was the same. The priest held a blooming maiden in his arms 
and he was terrified at the sight. He stopped the horse and 
sprang down, thinking he had met with a new device of the 
evil one. But young Helga sprang to the ground too. The 
short child’s frock only reached to her knee. She tore the 
sharp knife from her belt and rushed upon the startled man. 
“Let me get at thee!” she cried; “let me reach thee and my 
knife shall pierce thee! Thou art ashen pale, beardless 
slave!” 

She closed upon him and they wrestled together, but an 
invisible power seemed to give strength to the Christian; 
he held her tight, and the old oak under which they stood 
seemed to help him, for the loosened roots above the ground 
tripped her up. Close by rose a bubbling spring and he sprinkled 
her with water and commanded the unclean spirit to leave her, 
making the sign of the cross over her according to Christian 
usage. But the baptismal water has no power if the spring 
of faith flows not from within. Yet even here something more 
than man’s strength opposed itself, through him, against the 
evil which struggled within her. Her arms fell, and she looked 
with astonishment and paling cheeks at this man who seemed 
to be a mighty magician skilled in secret arts. These were 
dark Runes he was repeating and cabalistic signs he was tracing 
in the air. She would not have blanched had he flourished a 
shining sword or a sharp axe before her face, but she trembled 
now as he traced the sign of the cross upon her forehead and 



The great dragon, hoarding his treasures, raised his head 
to look at them 









THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


bosom, and sat before him with drooping head like a wild 
bird tamed. 

He spoke gently to her about the deed of love she had 
performed for him this night, when she came in the hideous 
shape of a toad, cut his bonds asunder, and led him out to light 
and life. She herself was bound, he said, and with stronger 
bonds than his; but she also, through him, should reach to 
light and life everlasting. He would take her to Hedeby to 
the holy Ansgarius, and there, in that Christian city, the spell 
would be removed; but she must no longer sit in front of him 
on the horse, even if she went of her own free will; he dared not 
carry her thus. 

“Thou must sit behind me, not before me; thy magic 
beauty has a power given by the Evil One which I dread; yet 
shall I have the victory through Christ!” 

He knelt down and prayed humbly and earnestly. It 
seemed as if the quiet wood became a holy church consecrated 
by his worship. The birds began to sing as if they too were 
also of this new congregation, and the fragrance of the wild 
flowers was as the ambrosial perfume of incense, while the 
young priest recited the words of Holy Writ: “The Day¬ 
spring from on high hath visited us. To give light to them that 
sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, to guide their 
feet into the way of peace.” 

He spoke of the yearning of all nature for redemption, 
and while he spoke the horse which had carried them stood 
quietly by, only rustling among the bramble-bushes, making 
the ripe, juicy fruit fall into little Helga’s hands, as if inviting 
her to refresh herself. Patiently she allowed herself to be 
lifted on to the horse’s back, and sat there like one in a trance, 
who neither watches nor wonders. The Christian man bound 
together two branches in the shape of a cross, which he held 
aloft in his hand as he rode through the wood. The brushwood 
grew thicker and thicker, till at last it became a trackless 
wilderness. Bushes of the wild sloe blocked the way, and 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


they had to ride round them. The bubbling springs turned to 
standing pools, and these they also had to ride round; still, 
they found strength and refreshment in the pure breezes of 
the forest, and no less a power in the tender words of faith 
and love spoken by the young priest in his [fervent desires to 
lead this poor straying one into the way of light and 
love. 

It is said that raindrops can wear a hollow in the hardest 
stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the 
jagged rocks; so did the dew of mercy, falling upon little Helga, 
soften all that was hard, and smooth all that was rough in her. 
Not that these effects were yet to be seen; she did not even 
know that they had taken place, any more than the buried 
seed lying in the earth knows that the refreshing showers and 
the warm sunbeams will cause it to flourish and bloom. 

As the mother’s song unconsciously falls upon the child’s 
heart, it stammers the words after her without understanding 
them; but later they crystallize into thoughts, and in time 
become clear. In this way the “Word” also worked here in 
the heart of Helga. 

They rode out of the wood, over a heath, and again through 
trackless forests. Toward evening they met a band of robbers. 

“Where hast thou stolen this beautiful child?” they cried, 
stopping the horse and pulling down the two riders, for they 
were a numerous party. 

The priest had no weapon but the knife which he had 
taken from little Helga, and with this he struck out right 
and left. One of the robbers raised his axe to strike him, 
but the Christian succeeded in springing on one side, or he 
would certainly have been hit; but the blade flew into the 
horse’s neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and it fell to the 
ground dead. Then little Helga, as if roused from a long 
deep trance, rushed forward and threw herself on to the gasping 
horse. The priest placed himself in front of her as a shield and 
defence; but one of the robbers swung his iron club with such 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


force at his head that the blood and the brains were scattered 
about, and he fell dead upon the ground. 

The robbers seized little Helga by her white arms, but 
the sun was just going down, and as the last rays vanished 
she was changed into the form of a frog. A greenish white 
mouth stretched half over her face; her arms became thin 
and slimy; while broad hands, with webbed fingers, spread 
themselves out like fans. The robbers in terror let her go, 
and she stood among them a hideous monster; and, according 
to frog nature, she bounded away with great leaps as high as 
herself, and disappeared in the thicket. Then the robbers 
perceived that this must be Loki’s evil spirit or some other 
witchcraft, and they hurried away affrighted. 

The full moon had risen and was shining in all its splendour 
when poor little Helga, in the form of a frog, crept out of the 
thicket. She stopped by the body of the Christian priest and 
the dead horse; she looked at them with eyes which seemed to 
weep; a sob came from the toad like that of a child bursting 
into tears. She threw herself down, first upon one, and then 
on the other, and brought water in her hand, which, from being 
large and webbed, formed a cup. This she sprinkled them with, 
but they were dead, and dead they must remain! This she 
understood. Soon wild animals would come and devour them; 
but no, that should never be; so she dug into the ground as 
deep as she could; she wished to dig a grave for them. She had 
nothing but the branch of a tree and her two hands, and she 
tore the web between her fingers till the blood ran from them. 
She soon saw that the task would be beyond her, so she fetched 
fresh water and washed the face of the dead man, and strewed 
fresh green leaves over it. She also brought large boughs 
to cover him, and scattered dried leaves between the branches. 
Then she brought the heaviest stones she could carry, and 
laid them over the dead body, filling up the spaces with moss. 
Now she thought the mound was strong and secure enough, 
but the difficult task had employed the whole night; the sun 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


was just rising, and there stood little Helga in all her beauty 
with bleeding hands and maidenly tears for the first time on 
her blushing cheeks. 

It was in this transformation as if two natures were strug¬ 
gling in her; she trembled and glanced round as if she were 
just awakening from a troubled dream. She leaned for support 
against a slender beech, and at last climbed to the topmost 
branches like a cat and seated herself firmly upon them. She 
sat there for the whole livelong day like a frightened squirrel 
in the solitude of the wood where all is still, and dead, as they say. 

Dead — well, there flew a couple of butterflies whirling 
round and round each other, and close by were some ant¬ 
hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures swarming 
to and fro. In the air danced countless midges, and swarm 
upon swarm of flies, lady-birds, dragon-flies with golden wings, 
and other little winged creatures. The earthworm crept forth 
from the moist ground, and the moles — but excepting these 
all was still and dead around; when people say this they don’t 
quite understand what they mean. None noticed little Helga 
but a flock of jackdaws which flew chattering round the tree 
where she sat. They hopped along the branch toward her, 
boldly inquisitive, but a glance from her eye was enough to 
drive them away. They could not make her out, though, any 
more than she could understand herself. 

When the evening drew near and the sun began to sink, 
the approaching transformation roused her to fresh exertion. 
She slipped down gently from the tree, and when the last sun¬ 
beam was extinguished she sat there once more, the shrivelled- 
up frog with her torn, webbed hands; but her eyes now shone 
with a new beauty which they had hardly possessed in all the 
pride of her loveliness. These were the gentlest and tenderest 
maiden’s eyes which now shone out of the face of the frog. 
They bore witness to the existence of deep feeling and a human 
heart; and the beauteous eyes overflowed with tears, weeping 
precious drops that lightened the heart. 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


The cross made of branches, the last work of him who 
now was dead and cold, still lay by the grave. Little Helga 
took it up, the thought came unconsciously, and she placed 
it between the stones which covered man and horse. At the 
sad recollection her tears burst forth again, and in this mood 
she traced the same sign in the earth round the grave — and 
as she formed with both hands the sign of the cross, the webbed 
skin fell away from her fingers like a torn glove. She washed 
her hands at the spring and gazed in astonishment at their 
delicate whiteness. Again she made the holy sign in the air, 
between herself and the dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue 
moved, and the name which she in her ride through the forest 
had so often heard rose to her lips, and she uttered the words 
“ Jesus Christ.” 

The frog’s skin fell away from her; she was the beautiful 
young maiden, but her head bent wearily and her limbs re¬ 
quired rest. She slept. Rut her sleep was short; she was awak¬ 
ened at midnight; before her stood the dead horse prancing 
and full of life, which shone forth from his eyes and his wounded 
neck. Close by his side appeared the murdered Christian priest, 
“ more beautiful than Baldur,” the Viking’s wife might indeed 
have said, and yet he was surrounded by flames of fire. 

There was such earnestness in his large, mild eyes, and 
such righteous judgment in his penetrating glance which pierced 
into the remotest corners of her heart, that little Helga trembled, 
and every memory within her was awakened as if it had been 
the day of Judgment. Every kindness which had ever been 
shown her, every loving word which had been said to her, came 
vividly before her. She now understood that it was love which 
had sustained her in those days of trial, through which all 
creatures formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, must wrestle 
and struggle. She acknowledged that she had but followed 
whither she was called, had done nothing for herself; all had been 
given her. She bent now in lowly humility, and full of shame, 
before Him who could read every impulse of her heart; and in 


ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES 


that moment she felt the purifying flame of the Holy Spirit 
thrill through her soul. 

“Thou daughter of earth!” said the Christian martyr, 
“out of the earth art thou come, from the earth shalt thou 
rise again! The sunlight within thee shall consciously return 
to its origin; not the beams of the actual sun, but those from 
God! No soul will be lost, things temporal are full of weariness, 
but eternity is life-giving. I come from the land of the dead; 
thou also must one day journey through the deep valleys to 
reach the radiant mountain summits where dwell grace and 
all perfection. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby for Christian 
baptism; first must thou break the watery shield that covers 
the deep morass, and bring forth from its depths the living 
author of thy being and thy life; thou must first carry out thy 
vocation before thy consecration may take place!” 

Then he lifted her up on to the horse, and gave her a golden 
censer like those she had seen in the Viking’s hall. A fragrant 
perfume arose from it, and the open wound on the martyr’s 
forehead gleamed like a radiant diadem. He took the cross 
from the grave, holding it high above him, while they rode 
rapidly through the air, across the murmuring woods, and 
over the heights where the mighty warriors of old lay buried, 
each seated on his dead war-horse. These strong men of 
war arose and rode out to the summits of the mounds; the 
broad golden circlets round their foreheads gleaming in the 
moonlight and their cloaks fluttering in the wind. The great 
dragon hoarding his treasure raised his head to look at them, 
and whole hosts of dwarfs peeped forth from their hillocks, 
swarming with red, green, and blue lights, like sparks from the 
ashes of burnt paper. 

Away they flew over wood and heath, rivers and pools, 
up north toward the Wild Bog; arrived here, they hovered 
round in great circles. The martyr raised high the cross; 
it shone like gold, and his lips chanted the holy mass. Little 
Helga sang with him as a child joins in its mother’s song. She 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


swung the censer, and from it issued a fragrance of the altar 
so strong and so wonder-working that the reeds and rushes 
burst into blossom, and numberless flower stems shot up 
from the bottomless depths; everything that had life within 
it lifted itself up and blossomed. The water lilies spread them¬ 
selves over the surface of the pool like a carpet of wrought 
flowers, and on this carpet lay a sleeping woman. She was 
young and beautiful; little Helga fancied she saw herself, her 
picture mirrored in the quiet pool. It was her mother she saw, 
the wife of the Marsh King, the princess from the river Nile. 

The martyred priest commanded the sleeping woman to 
be lifted up on to the horse, but the animal sank beneath the 
burden, as though it had no more substance than a winding- 
sheet floating on the wind; but the sign of the cross gave strength 
to the phantom, and all three rode on through the air to dry 
ground. Just then the cock crew from the Viking’s hall, and 
the vision melted away in the mist which was driven along by 
the wind, but mother and daughter stood side by side. 

“Is it myself I see reflected in the deep water?” said the 
mother. 

“Do I see myself mirrored in a bright shield?” said the 
daughter. But as they approached and clasped each other 
heart to heart, the mother’s heart beat the faster, and she 
understood. 

“My child! my own heart’s blossom! my lotus out of the 
deep waters!” and she wept over her daughter; her tears 
were a new baptism of love and life for little Helga. “I came 
hither in a swan’s plumage, and here I threw it off,” said the 
mother. “I sank down into the bog, which closed around me. 
Some power always dragged me down, deeper and deeper. 
I felt the hand of sleep pressing upon my eyelids. I fell asleep, 
and I dreamt — I seemed to be again in the vast Egyptian 
Pyramid; but still before me stood the moving alder stump 
which had frightened me on the surface of the bog. I gazed 
at the fissures of the bark and they shone out in bright colours 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


and turned to hieroglyphs; it was the mummy’s wrappings 
I was looking at. The coverings burst asunder, and out of 
them walked the mummy king of a thousand years ago, black 
as pitch, black as the shining wood-snail or the slimy mud 
of the swamp. Whether it were the Mummy King or the 
Marsh King I knew not. He threw his arms around me, and 
I felt that I must die. When life came back to me I felt some¬ 
thing warm upon my bosom; a little bird fluttering its wings and 
twittering. It flew from my bosom high up toward the heavy 
dark canopy, but a long green ribbon still bound it to me; I 
heard and understood its notes of longing: ‘Freedom! Sun¬ 
shine! To the Father!’ I remembered my own father in the 
sunlit land of my home, my life and my love! and I loosened 
the ribbon and let it flutter away — home to my father. Since 
that hour I have dreamt no more; I must have slept a long and 
heavy sleep till this hour, when sweet music and fragrant odours 
awoke me and set me free.” 

Where did now the green ribbon flutter which bound the 
mother’s heart to the wings of the bird? Only the stork had 
seen it. The ribbon was the green stem, the bow the gleaming 
flower which cradled the little baby, now grown up to her 
full beauty, and once more resting on her mother’s breast. 
While they stood there, pressed heart to heart, the stork was 
wheeling above their heads in great circles; at length he flew 
away to his nest and brought back the swan plumages so long 
cherished there. He threw one over each of them; the feathers 
closed over them closely, and mother and daughter rose into 
the air as two white swans. 

“Now let us talk!” said the father stork; “for we can 
understand each other’s language, even if one sort of bird 
has a different-shaped beak from another. It is the most 
fortunate thing in the world that you appeared this evening. 
To-morrow we should have been off, mother and I and the 
young ones. We are going to fly southward. Yes, you may 
look at me! I am an old friend from the Nile, so is mother; 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


too; her heart is not so sharp as her beak! She always said 
that the Princess would take care of herself! I and the young 
ones carried the swans’ plumage up here! How delighted I am, 
and how lucky it is that I am still here; as soon as the day 
dawns we will set off, a great company of storks. We will 
fly in front, you had better follow us and then you won’t lose 
your way, and we will keep an eye upon you.” 

“And the lotus flower which I was to take with me,” said 
the Egyptian Princess, “flies by my side in a swan’s plumage. 
I take the flower of my heart with me, and so the riddle is 
solved. Now for home! home!” 

But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land with¬ 
out seeing her loving foster-mother once more, the Viking’s 
wife. For in Helga’s memory now rose up every happy rec¬ 
ollection, every tender word and every tear her foster-mother 
had shed over her, and it almost seemed as if she loved this 
mother best. 

“Yes, we must go to the Viking’s hall,” said the father 
stork; “mother and the young ones are waiting for us there. 
How they will open their eyes and flap their wings! Mother 
doesn’t say much; she is somewhat short and abrupt, but 
she means very well. Now I will make a great clattering to 
let them know we are coming!” 

So he clattered with his beak, and he and the swans flew 
off to the Viking’s hall. 

They all lay in a deep sleep within; the Viking’s wife had 
gone late to rest, for she was in great anxiety about little Helga, 
who had not been seen for three days. She had disappeared 
with the Christian priest, and she must have helped him away; 
it was her horse which was missing from the stable. By what 
power had this been brought to pass? The Viking’s wife 
thought over all the many miracles which were said to have 
been performed by the “White Christ,” and by those who 
believed in Him and followed Him. All these thoughts took 
form in her dreams, and it seemed to her that she was still 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


awake, sitting thoughtfully upon her bed while darkness reigned 
without. A storm arose; she heard the rolling of the waves 
east and west of her from the North Sea, and from the waters 
of the Cattegat. The monstrous serpent which, according to 
her faith, encompassed the earth in the depths of the ocean, 
was trembling in convulsions from dread of “Ragnarok,” 
the knight of the gods. He personified the day of Judgment 
when everything should pass away, even the great gods them¬ 
selves. The Gialler horn sounded, and away over the rainbow 
rode the gods, clad in steel to fight their last battle; before 
them flew the shield maidens, the Valkyries, and the ranks 
were closed by the phantoms of the dead warriors. The whole 
atmosphere shone in the radiance of the northern lights, but 
darkness conquered in the end. It was a terrible hour, and 
in her dream little Helga sat close beside the frightened woman, 
crouching on the floor in the form of the hideous frog. She 
trembled and crept closer to her foster-mother, who took her 
on her knee, and in her love pressed her to her bosom, notwith¬ 
standing the hideous frog’s skin. And the air resounded with 
the clashing of sword and club, and the whistling of arrows 
as though a fierce hailstorm were passing over them. The 
hour had come when heaven and earth were to pass away, 
the stars to fall, and everything to succumb to Surtur’s fire — 
and yet a new earth and a new heaven would arise, and fields 
of corn would wave where the seas now rolled over the golden 
sands. The God whom none might name would reign, and to 
Him would ascend Baldur the mild, the loving, redeemed from 
the kingdom of the dead — he was coming — the Viking’s 
wife saw him plainly, she knew his face — it was that of the 
Christian priest, their prisoner. “White Christ,” she cried 
aloud, and as she named the name she pressed a kiss upon the 
forehead of the loathsome toad; the frog’s skin fell away, and 
before her stood little Helga in all the radiance of her beauty, 
gentle as she had never been before, and with beaming eyes. 
She kissed her foster-mother’s hands, and blessed her for all 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

the care and love she had shown in the days of her trial and 
misery. She thanked her for the thoughts she had instilled 
into her, and for naming the name which she now repeated, 
“White Christ!” Little Helga rose up as a great white swan 
and spread her wings with the rushing sound of a flock of birds 
of passage on the wing. 

The Viking’s wife was wakened by the rushing sound of 
wings outside; she knew it was the time when the storks took 
their flight, and it was these she heard. She wanted to see 
them once more and to bid them farewell, so she got up and 
went out on to the balcony; she saw stork upon stork sitting 
on the roofs of the outbuildings round the courtyard, and flocks 
of them were flying round and round in great circles. Just 
in front of her, on the edge of the well where little Helga so 
often had frightened her with her wildness, sat two white swans, 
who gazed at her with their wise eyes. Then she remembered 
her dream, which still seemed quite real to her. She thought of 
little Helga in the form of a swan. She thought of the Christian 
priest, and suddenly a great joy arose in her heart. The swans 
flapped their wings and bent their heads, as if to greet her, and 
the Viking’s wife stretched out her arms toward them as if she 
understood all about it, and she smiled at them with tears in 
her eyes. 

“We are not going to wait for the swans,” said the mother 
stork; “if they want to travel with us they must come. We 
can’t dawdle here till the plovers start! It is very nice to 
travel as we do, the whole family together, not like the chaffinches 
and the ruffs, when the males and females fly separately; it’s 
hardly decent! And why are those swans flapping their wings 
like that?” 

“Well, every one flies in his own way,” said the father 
stork. “The swans fly in an oblique line, the cranes in the 
form of a triangle, and the plovers in a curved line like a 
snake.” 

“Don’t talk about snakes while we are flying up here,” 


ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES 

said the mother stork. “It puts desires into the young ones' 
heads which they can’t gratify.” 

“Are those the high mountains I used to hear about?” 
asked Helga in the swan’s plumage. 

“Those are thunder clouds driving along beneath us,” 
said her mother. 

“What are those white clouds that rise so high?” again 
inquired Helga. 

“Those are mountains covered with perpetual snows that 
you see yonder,” said her mother, as they flew across the Alps 
down toward the blue Mediterranean. 

“Africa’s land! Egypt’s strand!” sang the daughter of 
the Nile in her joy, as from far above, in her swan’s plumage, 
her eye fell upon the narrow waving yellow line, her birthplace. 
The other birds saw it, too, and hastened their flight. 

“I smell the Nile mud and the frogs,” said the mother 
stork. “I am tingling all over. Now, you will have some¬ 
thing nice to taste, and something to see, too. There are the 
marabouts, the ibis, and the crane. They all belong to our 
family, but they are not nearly so handsome as we are; they 
are very stuck up, though, especially the ibis, they have been 
so spoilt by the Egyptians. They make mummies of him, 
and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffed with 
living frogs, and so would you, and so you shall be! Better 
have something in your crops while you are alive than have 
a great fuss made over you after you are dead. That is my 
opinion, and I am always right.” 

“The storks have come back,” was said in the great house 
on the Nile, where its lord lay in the great hall on his downy 
cushions covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, and yet 
not dead either, waiting and hoping for the lotus flower from 
the deep morass in the north. 

Relatives and servants stood round his couch, when two 
great white swans who had come with the storks flew into 
the hall. They threw off their dazzling plumage, and there 



‘’The Day-spring from on high hath visited us. To give light to them 
that sit in darkness, and to guide their feet into the way of peace” 









THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


stood two beautiful women as like each other as twin drops 
of dew. They bent over the pale, withered old man, throwing 
back their long hair. 

As little Helga bent over her grandfather, the colour 
came back to his cheeks and new life returned to his limbs. 
The old man rose with health and energy renewed; his daughter 
and granddaughter clasped him in their arms, as if with a 
joyous morning greeting after a long troubled night. 

Joy reigned throughout the house and in the stork’s nest, 
too, but there the rejoicing was chiefly over the abundance of 
food, especially the swarms of frogs. And while the sages 
hastily sketched the story of the two Princesses and the flower 
of healing, which brought such joy and blessing to the land, 
the parent storks told the same story in their own way to their 
family; but only when they had all satisfied their appetites, 
or they would have had something better to do than to listen 
to stories. 

“Surely you will be made something at last,” whispered 
the mother stork. “It wouldn’t be reasonable otherwise.” 

“Oh, what should I be made?” said the father stork; 
“and what have I done? Nothing at all!” 

“You have done more than all the others! Without you 
and the young ones the two Princesses would never have seen 
Egypt again, nor would the old man have recovered his health. 
You will become something. They will at least give you a 
doctor’s degree, and our young ones will be born with the title, 
and their young ones after them. Why, you look like an 
Egyptian doctor already, at least in my eyes!” 

And now the learned men and the sages set to work to 
propound the inner principle, as they called it, that lay at 
the root of the matter. “Love is the food of life,” was their 
text. Then came the explanations. “The Princess was the 
warm sunbeam, she went down to the Marsh King, and from 
their meeting sprang forth the blossom.” 

“I can’t exactly repeat the words,” said the father stork. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


He had been listening on the roof, and now wanted to tell them 
all about it in the nest. “What they said was so involved and 
so clever that they not only received rank, but presents, too; 
even the head cook had a mark of distinction — most likely 
for the soup!” 

“And what did you get?” asked the mother stork. “They 
ought not to forget the most important person, and that is 
what you are; the sages have only cackled about it all. But 
your turn will come, no doubt!” 

Late at night, when the whole happy household were wrapped 
in peaceful slumbers, there was still one watcher. It was not 
Father Stork, although he stood up in the nest on one leg like 
a sentry asleep at his post. No, it was little Helga. She was 
watching, bending out over the balcony in the clear air, gazing 
at the shining stars, bigger and purer in their radiance than she 
had ever seen them in the north; and yet they were the same. 
She thought of the Viking’s wife by the Wild Bog; she thought 
of her foster-mother’s gentle eyes, and the tears she had shed 
over the poor frog-child, who now stood in the bright starlight 
and delicious spring air by the waters of the Nile. She thought 
of the love in the heathen woman’s breast, the love she had 
lavished on a miserable creature, who in human guise was a 
wild animal, and when in the form of an animal was hateful 
to the sight and to the touch. She looked at the shining stars, 
and remembered the dazzling light on the forehead of the mar¬ 
tyred priest as he flew over moorland and forest. The tones 
of his voice came back to her, and words that he had said 
while she sat overwhelmed and crushed — words concerning 
the sublime source of love, the highest love embracing all genera¬ 
tions of mankind. What had not been won and achieved by 
this love? Day and night little Helga was absorbed in the 
thought of her happiness; she entirely lost herself in the con¬ 
templation of it, like a child who turns hurriedly from the 
giver to examine the beautiful gifts. Happy she was, indeed, 
and her happiness seemed ever growing; more might come, 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 

would come. In these thoughts she indulged, until she thought 
no more of the Giver. It was in the wantonness of youth 
that she thus sinned. Her eyes sparkled with pride, but sud¬ 
denly she was roused from her vain dream. She heard a great 
clatter in the courtyard below, and, looking out, saw two great 
ostriches rushing hurriedly round in circles; never before had 
she seen this great, heavy, clumsy bird, which looked as if its 
wings had been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appear¬ 
ance of having been roughly used. She asked what had happened 
to them, and for the first time heard the legend the Egyptians 
tell concerning the ostrich. 

Once, they say, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious 
race of birds, with large, strong wings. One evening the great 
birds of the forest said to it, “Brother, shall we to-morrow, 
God willing, go down to the river to drink?” And the ostrich 
answered, “I will!” 

At the break of day, then, they flew off, first rising high in 
the air toward the sun, the eye of God; still higher and higher 
the ostrich flew, far in front of the other birds, in its pride flying 
close up to the light. He trusted in his own strength, and not 
on that of the Giver; he would not say “God willing!” But 
the venging angel drew back the veil from the flaming ocean of 
sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were 
burnt, and he sank miserably to the earth. Since that time 
the ostrich and his race have never been able to rise in the air; 
he can only fly terror-stricken along the ground, or round and 
round in narrow circles. It is a warning to mankind, reminding 
us in every thought and action to say “God willing!” 

Helga thoughtfully and seriously bent her head and looked 
at the hunted ostrich, noticed its fear and its miserable pride 
at the sight of its own great shadow on the white moonlit wall. 
Her thoughts grew graver and more earnest. A life so rich 
in joy had already been given her; what more was to come? 
The best of all perhaps — “God willing!” 

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

take flight to the north, little Helga took oft her gold bracelet, 
and, scratching her name on it, beckoned to Father Stork and 
put it round his neck. She told him to take it to the Viking’s 
wife, who would see by it that her foster-daughter still lived, 
was happy, and had not forgotten her. 

“It is a heavy thing to carry!” thought Father Stork, as 
it slipped on to his neck; “but neither gold nor honour are 
to be thrown upon the highway! The stork brings good luck, 
they say up there!” 

“You lay gold, and I lay eggs,” said Mother Stork; “but 
you only lay once and I lay every year. But no one appreciates 
us; I call it very mortifying!” 

“One always has the consciousness of one’s own worth, 
though, mother!” said Father Stork. 

“But you can’t hang it outside,” said Mother Stork; “it 
neither gives a fair wind nor a full meal!” And they took 
their departure. 

The little nightingale singing in the tamarind bushes was 
also going north soon; Helga had often heard it singing by 
the Wild Bog, so she determined to send a message by it, too. 
She knew the bird language from having worn a swan’s plumage, 
and she had kept it up by speaking to the storks and the 
swallows. The nightingale understood her quite well, so she 
begged it to fly to the beech wood in Jutland, where she had 
made the grave of stones and branches; she bade it tell all the 
other little birds to guard the grave and to sing over it. The 
nightingale flew away — and time flew away too. 

In the autumn an eagle perched on one of the Pyramids, 
saw a gorgeous train of heavily laden camels and men clad 
in armour riding fiery Arab steeds as white as silver with quiver¬ 
ing red nostrils and flowing manes reaching to the ground. 
A royal prince from Arabia, as handsome as a prince should *be, 
was arriving at the stately mansion where now even the stork’s 
nest stood empty; its inhabitants were still in their northern 
home; but they would soon now return — nay, on the very day 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


when the rejoicings were at their height they returned. They 
were bridal festivities and little Helga was the bride clad in 
rich silk and many jewels. The bridegroom was the young 
prince from Arabia, and they sat together at the upper end of 
the table, between her mother and her grandfather. 

But Helga was not looking at the bridegroom’s handsome 
face round which his black beard curled, nor did she look 
into his fiery dark eyes which were fixed upon hers. She was 
gazing up at a brilliant twinkling star which was beaming in the 
heavens. 

Just then there was a rustle of great wings in the air out¬ 
side; the storks had come back. And the old couple, tired as 
they were and needing rest, flew straight down to the railing 
of the veranda; they knew nothing about the festivities. They 
had heard on the frontiers of the country that little Helga had 
had them painted on the wall, for they belonged to the story 
of her life. 

“It was prettily done of her,” said Father Stork. 

“It is little enough,” said Mother Stork; “they could 
hardly do less.” 

When Helga saw them she rose from the table and went 
out on to the veranda to stroke their wings. The old storks 
bowed their heads and the very youngest ones looked on and 
felt honoured. And Helga looked up at the shining star which 
seemed to grow brighter and purer; between herself and the 
star floated a form purer even than the air and therefore 
visible to her. It floated quite close to her and she saw that it 
was the martyred priest; he also had come to her great festival 
— come even from the heavenly kingdom. 

“The glory and bliss yonder far outshines these earthly 
splendours,” he said. 

Little Helga prayed more earnestly and meekly than she 
had ever done before, that for one single moment she might 
gaze into the kingdom of Heaven. Then she felt herself lifted 
up above the earth in a stream of sweet sounds and thoughts. 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


The unearthly music was not only around her, it was within her. 
No words can express it. 

“Now we must return; you will be missed,” said the martyr. 

“Only one glance more,” she pleaded; “only one short 
moment more.” 

“We must return to earth; the guests are departing.” 

“Only one look — the last.” 

Little Helga stood once again on the veranda, but all 
the torches outside were extinguished and the lights in the 
banqueting hall were out, too; the storks were gone; no guests 
were to be seen; no bridegroom — all had vanished in those 
short three minutes. 

A great dread seized upon Helga; she walked through 
the great empty hall into the next chamber where strange 
warriors were sleeping. She opened a side door which led 
into her own room, but she found herself in a garden, which 
had never been there before. Red gleams were in the sky, 
dawn was approaching. Only three minutes in Heaven, and 
a whole night on earth had passed away. 

Then she saw the storks; she called to them in her own 
language. Father Stork turned his head, listened, and came 
up to her. 

“You speak our language,” he said. “What do you 
want? Why do you come here, you strange woman?” 

“It is I, it is Helga; don’t you know me? We were talk¬ 
ing to each other in the veranda three minutes ago.” 

“That is a mistake,” said the stork; “you must have 
dreamt it.” 

“No, no,” she said; and she reminded him of the Viking’s 
stronghold, and the Wild Bog, and their journey together. 

Father Stork blinked his eyes and said, “Why, that is a 
very old story; I believe it happened in the time of my great- 
great-grandmother. Yes, there certainly was a princess in 
Egypt who came from the Danish land, but she disappeared 
on her wedding night many hundred years ago. You may 


THE MARSH KING’S DAUGHTER 


read all about it here, on the monument in the garden. There 
are both storks and swans carved on it, and you are at the 
top yourself, all in white marble.” 

And so it was: Helga understood all about it now and 
sank upon her knees. 

The sun burst forth, and as in former times the frog’s skin 
fell away before his beams and revealed the beautiful girl; so 
now, in the baptism of light, a vision of beauty, brighter and 
purer than the air — a ray of light — rose to the Father. The 
earthly body dropped away in dust — only a withered lotus 
flower lay where she had stood. 

“Well, that is a new ending to the story,” said Father 
Stork. “I hadn’t expected that, but I like it very well.” 

“What will the young ones say about it?” asked Mother 
Stork. 

“Ah, that is a very important matter,” said Father Stork. 







P OOR JOHN was very sad, his father was ill and he 
knew that he could not recover. There was no one 
else in the little room besides these two; it was quite late 
at night and the lamp had nearly burnt out. 

“You have been a good son, John,” said the dying man. 
“I am sure the Lord will help you on in the world!” and he 
fixed his mild, gentle eyes upon his son, drew a long breath, 
and passed away so quietly he only seemed to be asleep. John 
wept bitterly, for now he had nobody in the world belonging 
to him, neither father nor mother, sister nor brother. Poor 
John! he knelt by the bedside and kissed his dead father’s 
hands and shed many tears; but at last his eyes closed, and 
he fell asleep with his head against the hard bed-post. 

He had a wonderful dream; he saw the sun and moon 
bowing before him, and he saw his father quite well and strong 
again; he laughed as he always used to laugh when he was very 
pleased. A lovely girl with a golden crown on her long, beautiful 
hair stretched out her hand to John, and his father said, “See 







THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


what a beautiful bride you have won. She is the loveliest 
maiden in the world.” Then he woke up and all the beautiful 
things were gone; his father lay on the bed dead and cold, 
and there was no one else there — poor John! 

The dead man was buried in the following week; John 
walked close behind the coffin, and he could no longer see 
his good father who had loved him so much. He heard the 
earth fall upon the coffin lid, and watched it till only a corner 
was left, and then the last shovelful fell upon it, and it was 
entirely hidden. He was so miserable, he felt as if his heart 
would break. 

A beautiful psalm was being sung which brought the tears 
into his eyes; he wept, and this brought him relief. The sun 
was shining brightly on the green trees, and seemed to say, 
“Do not be so sad, John! See how blue the sky is; your good 
father is up there, and he will pray to God that all may be 
well with you.” 

“I will always be good!” said John, “and then *1 shall 
go to Heaven some time to my father, and what joy it will 
be to see each other again. How much I shall have to tell 
him; and he will have so much to show me, and to teach me 
about the bliss of Heaven, just as he used to teach me here 
on earth. Oh, what joy it will be! ” 

John saw it all so vividly that he smiled at the thought, 
although the tears still ran down his cheeks. The little birds 
in the chestnut tree twittered with joy, although they had 
been at the funeral, but they knew that the dead man was 
in Heaven, and that he now had wings larger and more 
beautiful than their own. They knew, too, that he was 
happy, because he had been a good man here on earth, and 
they were glad of it. John saw them fly away from the trees 
out into the world, and he felt a strong desire to fly away with 
them. But first he made a wooden cross to put up on his 
father’s grave. When he brought it along in the evening he 
found the grave covered with sand and decorated with flowers. 


ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES 


This had been done by the strangers for love of his father. 
Early next morning John packed his little bundle and stowed 
away his sole inheritance in his belt; it only consisted of 
fifty dollars and a few silver coins, and with these he started 
out into the world. But first he went to the churchyard to 
his father’s grave, where he knelt and said the Lord’s prayer, 
and then added, “Farewell, dear father! I will always be 
good, and then you won’t be afraid to pray to the good God 
that all may go well with me!” 

The fields that John passed through were full of bright 
flowers nodding their heads in the warm sunshine as much 
as to say, “Welcome into the fields! Is it not lovely here?” 
but John turned round once more to look at the old church 
where he had been baptized, and where he had gone every 
Sunday and sung the psalms with his good old father. On 
looking back he saw standing in one of the loopholes of the 
tower the little church-Nisse with his pointed red cap, shading 
his eyes from the sun with his arm. John nodded good-bye 
to him, and the little Nisse waved his hand and kissed his fingers 
to him to show that he was sending his good wishes for a pleasant 
journey. 

John now began to think how many beautiful things he 
would see in the great beautiful world before him, and he 
went on and on till he found himself much farther away than he 
had ever been before. He did not know the towns through which 
he passed, or the people he met; he was quite among strangers. 
The first night he had to sleep under a haystack in a field, for 
he had no other bed. But he thought it was lovely; no king 
could have had a better. The field by the river, the haystack, 
and the deep-blue sky above made a charming room. The green 
grass dotted with red and white flowers was the carpet, the 
elders and the rosebushes were growing bouquets, and he had 
the whole river for a bath, with its clear fresh water, and the 
rushes which nodded their heads bidding him both “Good¬ 
night” and “Good-morning.” The moon was a great night 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


light high up under the blue ceiling, one which would never 
set fire to the curtains. John could sleep quite quietly without 
fear, and this he also did. He only woke when the sun was 
high up in the sky and all the little birds were singing, “ Good¬ 
morning! Good-morning! Are you not up yet?” 

The bells were ringing for church; people were on their 
way to hear the parson pray and preach, and John went with 
them. He sang a psalm and listened to the word of God, 
and he felt as if he were in his own old church, where he had 
been christened, and where he had sung the psalms with his 
father. There were a great many graves in the churchyard, 
and some of them were overgrown with long grass. John 
thought of his father’s grave, which some day might look like 
these when he was no longer there to weed and trim it. So 
he knelt down, pulled up the long grass, and raised the wooden 
crosses which had fallen down. He picked up the wreaths 
which had been blown away, and replaced them, thinking 
that perhaps some one would do the same for his father’s grave 
now he was away. 

An old beggar was standing outside the churchyard leaning 
on a crutch, and John gave him the few silver coins he had 
left, and then went happily and cheerfully on into the wide 
world. Toward evening a fearful storm came on and John 
hurried to get under shelter, but it soon grew dark. At last 
he reached a little church standing on a solitary hill; the door 
was ajar, and he slipped in to take shelter till the storm was over. 

“1 will sit down here in a corner till the storm is over,” 
he said; “I am quite tired and in need of a rest!” so he sat 
down, folded his hands, and said his evening prayer; and before 
he was aware he was asleep and dreaming while it thundered 
and lightened outside. 

When he woke up it was the middle of the night and the 
storm was over: the moon was shining in upon him through 
the windows. In the middle of the aisle stood an open coffin 
with a dead man in it who was not yet buried. John was not 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


at all afraid, for he had a good conscience, and he knew that 
the dead can do no harm; it is living wicked people who do 
harm to others. There were two such bad men standing by 
the coffin. They had come to do harm to this poor dead man; 
to turn him out of his coffin and throw the body outside the 
church door. 

“Why do you want to do this?” asked John. “It is 
very wicked and disgraceful; let the man rest, for Heaven’s 
sake!” 

“Oh, nonsense!” replied the wretches; “he cheated us, 
he owed us money which he could not pay, and now he has 
gone and died into the bargain, and we shall never see a 
penny, so we want to revenge ourselves. He shall lie like a 
dog outside the church doors!” 

“I have not got more than fifty dollars,” said John; “it 
is my whole inheritance, but I will gladly give it to you if 
you will honestly promise me to leave the poor dead man in 
peace. I shall manage very well without the money. I have 
good strong limbs, and the Lord will always help me.” 

“Well,” said the bad men, “if you are ready to pay 
his debt like that, we won’t do him any harm, we can assure 
you!” 

And they took the money John gave them, laughing 
at him for being such a simpleton, and then they went away. 
John put the body straight again, folded the hands, said good¬ 
bye and went away through the woods in a state of great satis¬ 
faction. Around him where the moon pierced through the 
trees he saw numbers of little elves playing about merrily. 
They did not disturb themselves on his account, they knew 
very well that he was a good innocent person, and it is only 
bad people who never see the fairies. Some of them were no 
bigger than one’s finger, and they had long yellow hair fastened 
up with golden combs. They swung hand in hand upon the 
big dewdrops which covered the leaves and the long grass. 
Sometimes the dewdrop rolled down, and then they fell with 



Great spiders spun their webs from branch to branch . . . 

and the fairies swung hand in hand upon the big dewdrops which 
covered the leaves and the long grass 













THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 

it down among the grass, and this caused great noise and 
laughter among the little folks. It was very amusing. They 
sang all the pretty little songs John used to know when he was 
a little boy. Great spiders with silver crowns upon their 
heads spun their webs from branch to branch like bridges 
connecting palaces. They glittered in the moonlight like 
glass where the dew had fallen on them. They went on with 
their sports till the sun rose, and the little creatures crept 
away into the flower buds, and the wind caught the bridges 
and palaces and swept them away into the air like cobwebs. 

John had just got through the wood, when a strong man’s 
voice called out behind him: “Hallo, comrade! whither away?” 

“Out into the wide world,” said John. “I have neither 
father nor mother, I am only a poor lad, but the Lord will pro¬ 
tect me.” 

“I am going out into the wide world too!” said the stranger; 
“shall we go together?” 

“By all means,” said John, and so they walked on together. 

They soon grew much attached to each other, for they 
were both good men, but John soon saw that the stranger was 
much wiser than himself; he had been round the greater part 
of the world, and he was well able to describe all that he had seen. 

The sun was already high when they sat down under a big 
tree to eat their breakfast, and just then an old woman came 
up. She was very old and bent, and walked with a crutch; 
she had a bundle of sticks she had picked up in the wood on 
her back, and her apron was fastened up, and John could 
see in it three bundles or fagots of dried fern and some wil¬ 
low twigs. When she got near them, her foot slipped and 
she fell with a loud shriek; the poor old woman had broken 
her leg. 

John wanted to carry her home, but the stranger opened 
his knapsack, and took out a little pot of salve, which he said 
would make her leg well directly, and she would be able to 
walk home as well as if she had never broken it. But in pay- 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

ment for it he wanted the three bundles of fern she had in her 
apron. 

“That is very good payment,” said the old woman, nod¬ 
ding her head rather oddly; she did not want to part with her 
three bundles of fern, but it was not so pleasant to lie there 
with a broken leg, so she gave him the fagots. As soon as he 
had rubbed on the salve, the old woman got up and walked 
away faster than she had been able to do before. This was 
all the effect of the salve; but no such ointment as this was 
to be had at any chemist’s. 

“What ever do you want with those bundles of fern?” 
said John to his companion. 

“They make very good birch rods, and they are just what 
I like. I am a very queer fellow, you know! ” 

Then they walked on for a good bit. 

“What a storm is drawing up there!” said John, pointing 
before him; “those are terribly black clouds.” 

“No,” said his fellow traveller, “those are not clouds, 
they are mountains, beautiful high mountains, where you 
can get right above the clouds into the fresh air. It is splendid 
up there! To-morrow we shall just reach them.” 

They were not so near, however, as they seemed to be; 
it took them a whole day to reach the mountains, where the 
dark forest grew right up toward the sky, and where there 
were great boulders as big as houses, or even towns. It 
would be a heavy task to climb over all these, and so John 
and his fellow traveller went into an inn to rest and refresh 
themselves before they made the ascent next day. There 
were a number of people in the bar parlour at the inn, for 
there was a man showing off some marionettes. He had 
just put up his little theatre, and the people were sitting round 
waiting for the play to begin. A fat old butcher had taken up 
his place in the middle of the front row, and he had a ferocious- 
looking bulldog by his side, and it sat staring just as hard as 
anybody else. 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


Then the comedy began, and it was a very pretty play, 
with a King and a Queen in it. They sat on a velvet throne 
with golden crowns on their heads, and trains, for they could 
well afford it. The prettiest little wooden dolls stood by all 
the doors; they had bright glass eyes and big whiskers, and 
they were employed in opening and shutting the doors to 
let in the fresh air. It was a capital play and not at all a 
tragic one, but just as the Queen got up to walk across the 
floor — Heaven knows what idea entered the bulldog’s head, 
but finding that the butcher was not holding him, he made 
a great leap forward right into the middle of the theatre and 
seized the Queen by the slender waist, and crunched her head 
up. It was a terrible disaster! 

The poor showman was quite frightened and also very sad 
about his Queen, for she was his prettiest doll, and the horrid 
bulldog had entirely ruined her. But when all the people 
had gone away John’s fellow traveller said he could make 
her all right again, and he took out his little pot and rubbed 
some of the same ointment on to the doll which had cured 
the poor old woman who had broken her leg. As soon as 
ever the doll had been rubbed over with the ointment she 
became whole again, nay, she could even move all her limbs 
herself; it was no longer necessary to pull the wires. The 
doll was exactly like a living being, except that she could not 
speak. The showman was delighted, because now he did 
not have to hold the wires at all for this doll, as she could dance 
quite well by herself, and none of the others could do that. 

At night, when everybody had gone to bed, some one was 
heard sighing most dolefully, and it went on so long that every¬ 
body got up to see who it could be. The showman went along 
to his theatre, because that was where the sighs seemed to come 
from. All the wooden dolls were lying in a heap; it was the 
King and his guards who were sighing so dismally and staring 
with their glass eyes. They all wanted to be rubbed with 
some of the same ointment as the Queen, so that they might 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


be able to move their limbs as well as she did. She threw 
herself down on her knees and stretched out her hands with 
her golden crown, saying, “Pray, take this, but do, please, rub 
some of the ointment on to my consort and the courtiers!” 
The poor man who owned the theatre and the marionettes 
could not help crying, he was so sorry for them. He immediately 
promised the travelling companion that he would give him 
all the money he possessed if he would only anoint five or six 
of the prettiest dolls. But the travelling companion said 
that he did not want anything except the big sword that the 
showman wore at his side, and as soon as it was given him he 
anointed six dolls. They began to dance about at once so 
prettily that all the real, living girls who saw them began to 
dance, too. The coachman and the cook, the waiter and the 
chambermaid, and all the strangers joined in, as well as the 
shovel and the tongs; but those two fell on the top of each 
other just as they were making their first bound. It was indeed 
a lively night! 

Next morning John and his travelling companion went 
away from them all, up the high mountains and through the 
great pine forests. They got so high that at last the church 
towers far below looked like little red berries among all the 
green; and they could see far away for many, many miles, 
to places where they had never been! John had never seen 
so many of the beauties of this beautiful world all together 
before. The warm sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, 
and the huntsman was heard winding his horn among the 
mountains; it was all so peaceful and sweet that it brought 
tears to his eyes, and he could not help exclaiming, “Great 
God, I could fall down and kiss the hem of Thy garment out 
of gratitude for all Thy good gifts to us!” 

His travelling companion also stood with folded hands 
looking at the woods and the villages basking in the warm 
sunshine. They heard a wonderful and beautiful sound above 
their heads, and looked up; a great white swan was hovering 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 

in the air above them. It sang as they had never heard any 
bird sing before; but the song became fainter and fainter, 
and the swan gradually sank down before their feet, where 
it lay dead — the beautiful bird. 

Two such beautiful wings,” said the travelling companion. 
“Such big white ones are worth a lot of money; I will take 
them with me. Now, you see what a good thing it was that 
I got this sword!” and with one blow he struck off both the 
wings of the dead swan, for he meant to keep them. 

They travelled many, many miles over the mountains, 
till at last they saw before them a great town with over a hun¬ 
dred towers, which glittered like silver in the sunshine. In 
the middle of the town was a splendid marble palace, thatched 
with red gold, in which the King lived. 

John and his travelling companion did not want to go 
into the town at once; they stopped at an inn outside to change 
their clothes, as they wished to look their best when they 
walked through the streets. The host told them that the 
King was such a good old man, he never did any harm to any 
one; but his daughter — Heaven preserve us! she was a wicked 
Princess. 

Beauty she had more than enough of; nobody could be 
so beautiful and fascinating as she was, but what was the 
good of it when she was such a bad wicked witch, who was the 
cause of so many handsome Princes having lost their lives. 
She had given permission to anybody to court her. Any one 
who would might come, were he Prince or beggar — it was 
all the same to her; he only had to guess three riddles she asked 
him. If he could answer them, she would marry him, and 
he would be king over all the land when her father died; but 
if he failed to answer them, he either had to be hanged or to 
have his head cut off. So bad and so wicked was this beautiful 
Princess. Her father, the old King, was much grieved by it, 
but he could not prevent her from being so wicked, for he had 
once said that he would never have^anything to do with her 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


lovers; she must deal with them herself as she liked. Every 
Prince who had yet come to guess the riddles so as to gain the 
Princess had failed, and so he had either been hanged or had 
his head cut off. Each one had been warned, and he need not 
have paid his addresses unless he had liked. The old King 
was so grieved by all this trouble and misery that he and his 
soldiers spent a whole day every year on their knees praying 
that the Princess might become good. But she had no intention 
of so doing. The old women who drank brandy dyed it black 
before they drank it; that was their way of mourning, and what 
more could they do! 

“That vile Princess!” said John, “she ought to be well 
birched; that would be the best thing for her. If I were the 
King I would make the blood run!” Just then they heard 
all the people in the streets shouting “Hurrah!” The Princess 
was passing, and she was really so beautiful that when they saw 
her everybody forgot how wicked she was, and so they all 
shouted “Hurrah.” Twelve beautiful maidens clothed in 
white silk with golden tulips in their hands, rode twelve 
coal-black horses by her side. The Princess herself was on 
a snow-white horse, adorned with diamonds and rubies; 
her riding dress was of pure gold, and the whip in her 
hand looked like a sunbeam. The golden crown on her head 
seemed to be made of little twinkling stars from the sky, 
and her cloak was sewn all over with thousands of beautiful 
butterflies’ wings. But she was far, far more beautiful than 
all her clothes. 

When John saw her his face became as red as blood, and 
he could hardly say a single word; the Princess was the image 
of the beautiful girl with the golden crown whom he had 
seen in his dream, the night his father died. He thought her 
so beautiful that he at once fell in love with her. It cer¬ 
tainly could not be true, he thought, that she could be a wicked 
witch who allowed people to be hanged or executed if they 
could not guess her riddles. “Any one may pay his addresses 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 

to her, even the poorest peasant: I will go to the Palace myself l 
I can’t help going!” 

They all said that he ought not to go, as he would only 
meet the same fate as the others. His travelling companion 
also advised him against going, but John thought he would 
be sure to get on all right; so he brushed his coat and his shoes, 
washed his hands and face, and combed his yellow hair, and 
then went quite alone to the town and straight up to the Palace. 

“Come in,” said the old King when John knocked at the 
door. He opened it, and the old King in his dressing-gown 
and slippers came toward him. He had his gold crown on 
his head, the sceptre in one hand, and the golden ball in the 
other. “Wait a moment,” said he, tucking the ball under his 
arm so as to be able to shake hands with John. But as soon 
as he heard that John was a suitor he began to cry so much 
that both the ball and the sceptre rolled on to the floor, and he 
had to wipe his eyes with his dressing-gown. The poor old 
King! 

“Leave it alone!” said he; “you are sure to fail just like 
the others, I am convinced of it!” Then he led John into the 
Princess’ pleasure garden, which was a ghastly sight. From 
every tree hung three or four Kings’ sons who had come to 
court the Princess, but who had all been unable to guess her 
riddles. With every gust of wind the bones rattled so that 
all the little birds were frightened away and they never dared 
come into the garden; all the flowers were tied up to human 
bones in the place of stakes, and human skulls grinned out of 
every flower-pot. It was indeed a nice garden for a Princess. 

“Here you see,” said the old King, “your fate will be 
just the same as all these. Do give it up. It makes me most 
unhappy, I take it so much to heart.” John kissed the old 
King’s hand and said he thought it would be all right, for he 
was so fond of the beautiful Princess. 

Just then the Princess came herself with all her ladies 
driving into the Palace gardens, so they went up to her and 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


said “Good-morning.” She was certainly very beautiful as 
she shook hands with John, and he was more in love with 
her than ever; it was impossible that she could be the wicked 
witch people said she was. They all went up into the hall 
and the little pages brought jam and gingerbread nuts to 
them; but the old King was so sad that he could eat nothing, 
besides the ginger nuts were too hard for him. 

It was now decided that John was to come up to the palace 
the next morning, when the judges and all the council would 
be assembled to hear if he could guess the first riddle. If he 
succeeded the first time, he would have to come twice more, 
but nobody yet had ever guessed the first riddle — he had 
lost his life at once. 

John was not a bit alarmed about himself; he was delighted, 
and only thought of the lovely Princess. He felt quite certain 
that the good God would help him, but in what manner it 
would be he had not the slightest idea, nor did he trouble his 
head about it. He danced along the highway, when he went 
back to the inn where his travelling companion was waiting 
for him. John was never tired of telling him how charming 
the Princess had been toward him, and how lovely she was. 
He was longing for the next day to come, when he was to go to 
the Palace to try his luck with the riddles. But his travelling 
companion shook his head and was quite sad. 

“I am so fond of you,” he said; “we might have been 
companions for a long time yet, and now I shall lose you directly! 
My poor, dear John, I could weep over you, but I will not 
spoil your pleasure on the last evening we perhaps may spend 
together. We will be merry, as merry as possible; to-morrow 
when you are gone I can be sad!” 

Everybody in the town had heard directly that a new 
suitor had come for the Princess, and there was general mourn¬ 
ing. The theatre was closed, and all the cake women tied black 
crape round the sugar pigs. The' King and the priests were 
praying on their knees in the churches, and there was universal 



Oh, what a flight that was through the air; the wind caught her 
cloak, and the moon shone through it 








THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


grief, for they all knew that there could be no better fate in 
store for John than for the other suitors. 

Late in the evening the travelling companion made a 
great bowl of punch, and said to John that they must be merry 
now and drink the Princess’ health. But when John had 
drunk two glasses he became so sleepy that he could not hold up 
his head, and he fell fast asleep. His travelling companion 
lifted him quietly up from his chair, and laid him on his bed. 
As soon as it was dark he took the two big wings which he had 
cut off the swan, and tied them on to his own shoulders; then 
he put the biggest bunch of twigs he had got from the old woman 
who had broken her leg, into his pocket, opened the window, and 
flew over the roofs of the houses right up to the Palace, where he 
sat down in a corner under the window of the Princess’ bedroom. 

The whole town was quiet. As the clock struck the 
quarter before twelve the window was opened, and the Princess 
flew out in a great white cloak and long black wings. She 
flew over the town to a great mountain, but the travelling 
companion made himself invisible and flew behind her, raining 
blows on to her back with his birch rod, till the blood flowed. 
Oh, what a flight that was through the air; the wind caught 
her cloak, which spread out on every side like the sail of a ship, 
and the moon shone through it. 

“How it hails, how it hails!” said the Princess at every 
blow, but she richly deserved it. 

At last they reached the mountain and knocked; there 
was a rumble as of thunder, the side of the mountain opened, 
and the Princess went in closely followed by the travelling 
companion. No one saw him, as he was quite invisible. They 
went through a long passage which glittered curiously, owing 
to thousands of shining spiders which swarmed over the walls, 
shedding a fiery light. They next reached a great hall built 
of gold and silver, with red and blue flowers as big as sunflowers 
all over the walls. No one could pick these flowers, for the 
stems were poisonous snakes, and the flowers were flames 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 

coming out of their mouths. The ceiling was covered with 
shining glow-worms and pale-blue bats which flapped their 
transparent wings. This had an extraordinary effect. In the 
middle of the floor was a throne supported on four horses’ 
legs with harness of the red fiery spiders. The throne itself 
was of milky glass, and the cushions were made of little black 
mice holding on to each other by the tails. There was a canopy 
above it of rose-coloured spider’s web, dotted with the most 
exquisite little green flies which glittered like diamonds. 

A hideous old ogre sat in the middle of the throne with a 
crown on his ugly head and a sceptre in his hand. He kissed 
the Princess on her forehead, and made her sit down by him 
on the costly throne; then the music began! Great black 
grasshoppers played upon Jews’-harps, and the owl beat upon 
his own stomach in place of a drum. It was a most absurd 
concert. Numbers of tiny little elves, each with a firefly 
on their little caps, danced round the hall. No one could see 
the travelling companion, but he could see and hear everything 
from behind the throne, where he had placed himself. The 
courtiers who now made their appearance looked most grand and 
proper, but any one who could really see perceived at once what 
they were. They were merely broomsticks with cabbages for 
heads, into which the ogre had put life by his magic powers 
and dressed them up in embroidered clothes. But this did not 
matter a bit, for they were only used on grand occasions. 

After the dancing had gone on for a time, the Princess 
told the ogre that she had another suitor, and asked him what 
she had better think of to put as a riddle the next day. 

“Listen!” said the ogre; “I will tell you what; you must 
think of something very simple, and then he will never think of it. 
Let us say one of your own shoes; he will never guess that. 
Then have his head chopped off, but don’t forget when you come 
here to-morrow night to bring me his eyes. I want to eat them.” 

The Princess curtsied low, and said that she would not 
forget the eyes. The ogre opened the mountain, and she 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


flew home again; and, as before, the travelling companion 
followed her closely and beat her so hard with the birch rod 
that she groaned at the terrible hailstorm and hurried back 
as fast as she could to her bedroom window. The travelling 
companion flew back to the inn, where he found John still 
fast asleep. He took off his own clothes and went to bed 
too, for he had good right to be tired. 

John woke quite early in the morning, and the travelling 
companion got up at the same time, and told him that he had 
had a wonderful dream about the Princess and her shoe; and 
he begged John to ask the Princess if she had not thought of 
her shoe. This was of course what he had heard the ogre 
say in the mountains, but he did not want to tell John anything 
about that, and so he merely told him it was a dream. 

“I may just as well ask that as anything else!” said John; 
“perhaps your dream will come true, for I always think God 
will help me! All the same I will say good-bye, for if I guess 
wrong you will never see me again.” 

So they kissed each other, and John went to the town 
and up to the Palace. The hall was full of people; the judges 
were seated in their armchairs, and they had down pillows 
under their heads, for they had so much to think about. The 
old King stood near wiping his eyes with a white pocket hand¬ 
kerchief. Then the Princess came in, greeting every one very 
pleasantly, and she was even lovelier than yesterday. She 
shook hands with John and said, “Good-morning to you.” 
Now John had to guess what she had thought of. She looked 
at him most sweetly, but as soon as she heard him say the word 
shoe, she turned as white as a sheet and trembled all over; but 
that was no good, for he had guessed aright. 

Preserve us! how pleased the old King was. He turned 
head over heels without stopping, and everybody clapped 
their hands both on his account and on John’s, whose first 
guess had been right. 

The travelling companion beamed with delight when he 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES 


heard how successful John had been. But John folded his 
hands and thanked God, who no doubt would also help him 
on the two following occasions. The next day was fixed for 
the second riddle. 

The evening passed just as the previous one had done. 
When John had gone to sleep the travelling companion flew 
behind the Princess to the mountain, and he beat her harder 
than ever, for this time he had taken two birch rods with him. 
Nobody could see him and he heard everything as before. 
The Princess was to think of her glove, and this he told John 
just as if it had been a dream. John of course could easily 
guess aright and again there was great delight at the Palace. 
The whole court turned somersaults as they had seen the King 
do the first time; but the Princess lay on the sofa and would 
not say a single word. Now all turned upon whether John 
guessed the third riddle or not. If he did, he would win the 
Princess and inherit the whole kingdom when the old King 
died; but if he was wrong, he would lose his life and the ogre 
would eat his beautiful blue eyes. 

The evening before John went early to bed, said his 
prayers, and slept as peacefully as possible; but the travel¬ 
ling companion tied the wings on to his back, and bound the 
sword round his waist, took all the birch rods, and flew off to 
the Palace. 

* It was a pitch-dark night. There was such a gale that the 
tiles flew off the roofs, and the trees in the garden of bones 
bent like reeds before the wind. The lightning flashed every 
moment, and the thunder rolled continuously the whole night 
long. The window burst open and the Princess flew out; 
she was as pale as death, but she laughed at the storm as if 
it were not bad enough; her white mantle swirled about in 
the wind like the sails of a ship. The travelling companion 
beat her with his three birches till the blood dripped on to the 
ground. She could hardly fly any farther. At last they reached 
the mountain. 



The courtiers looked most grand and proper. . . . Numbers of tiny 
little elves danced around the hall 













THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


“What a hailstorm there is!” she said as she entered. 
“I have never been out in such a bad one!” 

“One may even have too much of a good thing!” said 
the ogre. 

Then she told him that John’s second guess had been 
right, and if he was successful again in the morning she would 
never be able to come and see him again in the mountain. Nor 
would she ever be able to do any more of the sorcerer’s tricks 
as before, and she was very sad about it. 

“He shall never guess it,” said the ogre. 

“I shall think of something that will never enter his head. 
But we will have some fun first!” And he took the Princess 
by both hands and they danced round the room with all the 
little elves and the fireflies. The red spiders ran merrily up 
and down the walls, and the fire flowers seemed to give out 
sparks. The owls played their drums, the crickets chirped, 
and the grasshoppers played their harps. It was a very gay 
ball. 

After they had danced some time the Princess was obliged 
to go home or she would be missed, and the ogre said he would 
go with her so as to have more of her company. 

So away they flew through the storm, and the travelling 
companion wore out his birch rods on their backs; never had 
the ogre been out in such a hailstorm. He said good-bye to 
the Princess outside the Palace, and whispered to her, “Think 
of my head”; but the travelling companion heard what he said, 
and at the very moment when the Princess slipped in at her 
window, and the ogre was turning away to go back, he seized 
him by his long black beard, and before he had time to look 
round cut off his head close to the shoulders with his big sword. 
He threw the body into the sea to be food for fishes, but he 
only dipped the head into the water and tied it up in his silk 
handkerchief and took it back to the inn, and he then went to 
bed. 

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief, but said he 


ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES, 

must not open it before the Princess asked him what she had 
thought about. 

There were so many people in the hall that they were 
packed as close together as a bundle of radishes. The judges 
were sitting in their armchairs with the soft, down cushions; 
and the old King had his new clothes on, and his crown and 
sceptre had been polished up and looked quite festive. But 
the Princess was very, very pale, and she was dressed in black 
as if for a funeral. 

“What have I thought of?” she asked John; and he im¬ 
mediately untied the handkerchief, and was very much frightened 
himself when he saw the hideous ogre’s head. A shudder ran 
through the whole assemblage, but the Princess seemed turned 
to stone, and could not say a single word. At last she got up 
and gave her hand to John, for he had guessed all the riddles; 
she looked neither to the right nor to the left, but sighed deeply 
and said, “You are my master now; our wedding shall take 
place to-night.” “I like that,” said the old King; “that is 
just as it should be.” All the people shouted hurrah, the guard’s 
band played in the streets, the bells rang and the cakewomen 
took the crape off the sugar pigs, because all was now rejoicing. 
Three oxen stuffed with chickens and ducks were roasted whole 
in the market-place, and every one could cut off a portion for 
themselves. The fountains played wine instead of water, and 
any one who bought a penny roll had six large buns full of 
plums given in. 

In the evening the whole town was illuminated. The 
soldiers fired salutes, and the boys let off squibs and crackers. 
At the Palace all was eating and drinking, toasting and dancing. 
The grand gentlemen danced with the pretty ladies, and the 
singing could be heard far and wide. 

But the Princess was still bewitched, and she did not care 
a bit about John; the travelling companion knew this, and 
gave him three feathers out of the swan’s wings and a little 
bottle with a few drops of liquid in it. He told John to have 


THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS 


a large bath full of water placed by the side of the bed, and when 
the Princess was going to get into bed he must give her a little 
push so that she fell into the water, where he was to dip her 
three times, first having thrown the three feathers and the 
drops of liquid into it. She would then be released from the 
spell and would grow very fond of him. 

John did everything as he was told. The Princess shrieked 
when he dipped her into the water, and struggled in his hands 
in the form of a black swan with glittering eyes. The second 
time she came up as a white swan, except for a black ring round 
the neck. John prayed humbly to God, and the third time 
she came up as a lovely Princess. She was more lovely than 
she had been before, and thanked him, with tears in her eyes, 
for having released her from the spell. 

Next morning the old King came with all his courtiers 
to offer their congratulations, and this went on all day. Last 
of all came the travelling companion; he had his stick in his 
hand and his knapsack on his back. John kissed him over and 
over, and said that he must not go away; he must stay with them, 
as he was the cause of all their happiness. But the travelling 
companion shook his head, and said gently and tenderly, “No; 
my time is up. I have only paid my debt. Do you remember 
the dead man whom you prevented the wicked men from dis¬ 
turbing? You gave all that you possessed so that he might have 
rest in his grave. I am the dead man!” And then he immedi¬ 
ately vanished. 

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and 
the Princess were devoted to each other, and the old King had 
many happy days in which to let their little children play “ride 
a cock-horse” on his knee and to play with his sceptre. But 
John was King over the whole country. 









































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